


Save the Drake

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Coffee Shops, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Online Relationship, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Romantic Comedy, Two Person Love Triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: Encouraged by his best friend Meg to create more connections in his life, Cas jumps into an online discussion surrounding the closing of the Drake, an independent and historic theater in his neighborhood. If nothing else, the confidence Cas gains as he makes a new online friend helps him to be less awkward around the guy in his building that he likes: Dean Winchester.It’s not like Dean Winchester needs help meeting people, but a hasty decision to comment on a local news article leads him to make a virtual connection. It's a new sort of relationship for Dean, but soon the two of them are chatting all day long. He only wishes getting to know his downstairs neighbor Cas was this simple.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 357
Kudos: 605
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When everything else feels wildly out of control, you can always count on one thing: Dean and Cas are in love. 
> 
> I'm thrilled to be part of the 2020 DCBB and to share this fic with you! Did I write a two person love triangle in hopes that it would lure [BusySquirrel](https://bs-acorns.tumblr.com/) like a trail of acorns? Yes, yes I did. And I am absolutely over the moon with what she's created!! Her friendship and her art have made this such an enjoyable experience. Aside from the banner, she made four, count 'em FOUR pieces!! Be sure to give her art post some love [here](https://bs-acorns.tumblr.com/post/631451675570388992/art-masterpost-for-save-the-drake-2020-deancas)!
> 
> Again, I could not do this without [Alison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning) as a steadying force and trusty beta reader. Every time I begin to despair, she's there to lift me up, and it's a priceless gift. Thank you!
> 
> [ A_Diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond) performed literal magic so that I wouldn't have to format the names each time these two chatted online and I cannot thank her enough for that!
> 
> The Drake Theater is based on the [ now-closed historic theater where I grew up in Pennsylvania](https://historictheatres.org/blog/2018/02/03/farewell-drake-theater-oil-city-pa/).
> 
> Thank you to the mods: Diamond, Superhoney, and Aceriee. This year has been a hell of a ride and you pulled this off with steady grace.

“Hold the door!”

Cas looks up to see Dean Winchester coming across the lobby, weighed down by bags of groceries in each hand. He’s momentarily caught off guard as he is each time he comes face to face with his upstairs neighbor. The green eyes, the broad shoulders, the bowed legs...he’s six feet of distractingly attractive human being. Staring, Cas only belatedly reaches for the elevator button. In his distraction, his eyes still locked on Dean’s, he jabs the wrong one and the doors begin to slide closed.

A look of betrayal crosses Dean’s symmetrical features. “I know you saw me!” he yells across the last few feet of tiled floor as the door closes between them.

Cas slumps against the wall, then thunks his head against it. Why didn’t he push the right button? Why didn’t he put a hand out to keep the doors open? Why does every interaction he has with Dean turn into a disaster?

When the elevator stops at the sixth floor, he hits the lobby button before he gets out, like it’s the least he can do. He briefly considers riding back down to explain, but there’s no way that wouldn’t backfire. Even if Cas could manage to string together a cohesive apology, Dean would end up trapped in a too small space with him. It would give Dean the chance to yell at him in person at least, but with Cas’s luck he’d try to help Dean with his groceries and end up dumping a carton of eggs all over himself.

Safely inside his apartment, Cas sighs. He’s seen Dean talk to people in the building, Cas included. He effortlessly asks people how they are, asking them if they’ve seen any good movies lately or if they have weekend plans. It’s easy for him, just striking up conversations at every opportunity, like he expects people to look him in his long-lashed eyes and have complete sentences roll off their tongues. It’s unfair, really, Cas thinks, as he stares into the refrigerator, willing dinner to magically appear. He tries to work himself into some outrage, some reframing of perspective that will put the blame on Dean for expecting Cas to adhere to social norms in his Adonis-like presence. In the end, though, he knows it’s just another example of Cas being unable to interact like a normal person.

Not to be dramatic about it, but he’ll probably die alone. Mourned only by a couple of cats until even they give up and eat his face.

His phone buzzes with a text. He checks to see who it’s from, unsurprised to see it’s Meg. Approximately 97% of his texts come from his best friend.

 **Meg:** What’s up.

 **Cas:** Nothing. Just making plans to move out of this building to spare further embarrassment.

 **Meg:** AGAIN? What did you do now?

It’s easier to call her. He puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the kitchen counter so that he can wrangle together something resembling a meal.

“Tell me everything,” she says immediately.

“So, I’m in the elevator and Dean comes into the lobby—”

“Oooh, close quarters opportunity!”

Cas dumps some leftover rice into a bowl. “He had both hands full of groceries and called to me to hold the elevator.”

Meg makes an appreciative noise. “So, what you’re telling me is he didn’t see you there and say _Ew gross I’ll wait._ ”

“No, but I’ll expect that going forward.” Cas takes a steadying breath and confesses. “I looked him right in the eye...and pushed the close door button.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. The splatting sound of leftovers hitting the bowl seems to echo around the small kitchen in a most unpleasant way.

“Cas,” Meg tries, but that’s as far as she gets before she’s full-on laughing.

Cas puts a hand over his face. “I know.”

“That’s...actually impressive.”

“It’s like a new personal best each time we meet.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Oh, did I neglect to share that part? He yelled that he knew that I’d seen him. Like I saw him there and specifically closed the door in his face.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s always next time.”

“Not if I pack my things and abscond in the dead of night.”

“You wouldn’t dare leave me.”

Cas smiles. “No, I wouldn’t.” He puts his bowl in the microwave and jabs at the keypad. “But I may have to sleep on your couch until Dean Winchester forgets I exist.”

Upstairs, he can hear Dean walking around his own kitchen, most likely putting away the groceries Cas left him stranded with. Even his footsteps sound confident and sure.

***

A few days later, he meets Meg at the coffee shop down the block. When he gets there, she’s staked out the two comfy chairs in the corner and she moves her bag off of the empty one when he approaches. “Good thing you got here, I thought I was going to have to fight Crossword Guy.”

Cas follows her gaze to see Crossword Guy narrowing his eyes at her from his table. “You could take him,” Cas assures her. Meg’s tiny, but Cas would put his money on her any day. “Besides, what’s he going to do? Jab you with his pencil?”

Meg sends a glare his way before smiling sweetly at Cas and saying. “Maybe if he used a pen I’d take him more seriously.”

“The pen _is_ mightier than the sword.”

“Whose side are you on? I was here first, fair and square.”

“Yours. Always yours.” He’d met Meg in college, well, more precisely, she’d found him sitting in the same place in the library four days in a row. On the fifth day, she’d simply pulled out the chair across from him. He looked up from his Econ textbook, stunned, ready to apologize because obviously she’d reserved this table or something. There was no reason for her to invade his personal space otherwise.

“So.” His stomach had dropped. He glanced around certain he’d find a group of her friends sitting together and giggling as they watched, but no one else seemed to have noticed a thing. “This is the best table.” Cas peered at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying, and more importantly why. “It gets the best light, but with no glare. It’s set back far enough that the noise from the door is muffled but not so far back that you deal with the bathroom traffic.”

Cas glanced up at the towering south-facing window. The late afternoon sunlight was exactly why he’d chosen it. He opened his mouth to agree but she cut him off.

“It’s the best table and I’ve been sitting here every afternoon until all of a sudden you showed up this week and took it. I was willing to write it off at first, but it’s been every day this week.”

Cas’s first instinct had been to gather his things and go. He closed the book he was working from and began to stack his papers.

Meg’s eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”

“It’s fine. You can have it.”

“Dude. You think I’m here to bully you out of this table?”

Cas thought college would be different, but apparently he continued to give off the same energy he had in high school, the one that saw him shoved up against lockers and called names in the halls. A good day had been one when his peers were too absorbed in their own lives to do anything more than ignore him. Without looking up, he shrugged.

“What’s your name?”

Cas set his jaw for a moment before responding. “Castiel.” That’s usually where it started. To his surprise, she held out a delicate hand.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel. I’m Meg.”

He took it warily. “Nice to meet you.”

Something in her face softened. “I was just hoping we could share this table.”

“Oh.” Cas hadn’t considered that option.

“Sorry if I came on strong. I just...I didn’t want you to think I was hitting on you. I literally just like this table.”

Cas could feel his forehead creasing. “Why would I think that?”

She blew out a long sigh. “I find most men assume my speaking to them is a come on.”

Cas looked down at the gleaming wooden table top for a moment. This conversation with Meg was the most sustained human one-on-one interaction he’d had all week. He lifted his gaze and smiled. “I can guarantee you that won’t be an issue with me.”

She looked at him, eyes keen. It would be a while before he came out to her fully, but he felt that she was reading between the lines even then. “Okay, cool. We’re friends now and this is our table.”

Trying not to grin, Cas reopened his book.

Today in the coffee shop, Meg looks him over. “I see no luggage, so apparently you aren’t breaking your lease.”

“Not today, anyhow.” Cas conveniently doesn’t mention that the reason he’s late has everything to do with his upstairs neighbor. Just as he was ready to go, he heard Dean leaving his apartment and he waited another ten minutes to make sure he wouldn’t run into him anywhere.

“If it’s any consolation, he’s probably forgotten already.”

Cas doubts it, but if he can stay off Dean’s radar for a while, that can only help. “I’m going to get my coffee. You need anything?”

Meg shakes her head. “I’m good.”

“Hey, Cas.” Charlie greets him when he gets to the counter. “Want your usual?”

Cas smiles gratefully. “Yes, please.” Outside of the green-eyed minefield his apartment building presents, Cas has a small but solid group of friends. He has Meg, and his brother Gabriel, and he’s here at the coffee shop enough to be considered a regular.

Charlie makes his latte and presents it to him in short order. “Here you go.”

“Thank you so much.” He pays and adds a generous tip then returns to his seat in the corner.

“So,” Meg begins, and Cas automatically narrows his eyes. This never bodes well for him, and he knows better than to try and stop her. “What are you going to do about this Dean Winchester problem?”

“It’s not a problem if I avoid him for the rest of my natural life,” Cas informs her, tapping his temple like he’s a genius.

Unsurprisingly, Meg rolls her eyes. “Cas.”

“Meg.”

“I just want you to be happy, you know that.”

“I am happy. I was just thinking about how full my life is while I got my coffee.”

Meg brightens. “Do tell.”

“I have my job. I have you. I have...friends.” Probably too soon to mention the prospect of getting a face-eating cat.

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

“Who aren’t me.”

“Yes.”

“She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What are their names?”

Stalling, Cas takes a sip of his extremely hot latte and burns his tongue. “I have Gabriel.”

“Your brother?”

“A brother can be a friend.”

Meg raises her eyebrows. “Who else?”

“I’m a regular here, so--” he gestures expansively around the coffee shop “--these people.”

“These people,” Meg repeats.

“Your parrot impression is first rate.”

She leans a little closer. “Have you been hanging out with Crossword Guy without me?”

“Yes, we play bingo twice a week. Look, what are you getting at? I just had a nice chat with Charlie, doesn’t that count?”

“That’s great,” Meg smiles. “What did you talk about?”

Cas replays their interaction in his head then slumps back in his seat. “Okay, fine. But next time let me know it’s going to be Point Out All Castiel’s Flaws Day before I agree to meet you.”

“Cas.” Her face goes serious. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with you. Hell, I wish I could be more like you in a lot of ways. But I also know that you’d like more in your life...more friends, maybe a partner. I just want to help you get that. Look, what if I get transferred? Or die? Who would you have coffee with?”

“First off, you own your own business so I’m not too worried about you getting transferred.” Even though he knows she’s kidding, the thought of losing her causes a flicker of panic. “And last I heard, you’re the picture of health.”

She fixes him with a faux beseeching look. “Life is not a guarantee, Cas. No one can predict the future.”

Cas is somewhat mollified, but he scowls nonetheless. “Well, with such charming interactions as these, who wouldn’t want more ‘friends’.” To her credit, Meg winces at the air quotes.

“I’m sorry. I’ll drop the whole thing if you want.”

Cas sighs the sigh of the long-suffering. “Have you considered that I’m perfectly happy the way things are?”

“Yes,” she says, so matter of factly that Cas is taken somewhat aback. “But then you tell me a story like you did about Dean and the elevator and let’s face it, if you didn’t care what he thought, it wouldn’t be worth a mention, much less a dramatic verbal re-enactment.”

Cas wants to argue with that but she makes a valid point. Would he like Dean Winchester to look at him as more than a neighbor? More than someone he runs into in the building? What would it be like for Dean to seek him out and really want to spend time with him? How would Cas even react to that? That thought leaves him more unsettled than ever. Cas doesn’t know how to talk to someone like Dean, he doesn’t know how to be the kind of person he would want. It’s safer to joke with Meg about these interactions, safer to play it off as an ongoing running joke than it is to admit that if Dean showed actual interest in him, Cas would be too terrified to know what to do with that attention.

Meg, of course, sees right through his bullshit just like she always has.

“Look, Cas. I would never try to change you. But what I would do is support and encourage you in your attempts to get what you want.”

Cas lets himself conjure up the image of being the person an imaginary partner greets with a genuine smile at the end of a long day. Of being caught up in an embrace that’s equal parts loving and comforting. “I’m not making an online dating account.”

Meg throws back her head and laughs. “I would never ask you to.”

“And no way in hell am I asking Dean out.” Even saying the words has his stomach flipping in a most unpleasant way. There are so many ways that could go wrong. His brain starts to whir, unable to decide which scenario is the most likely to leave Cas mortified.

“Oh my God, Cas, who do you think I am? What I’m talking about is easy, I swear.” She pushes her long curly hair back behind her ear as she explains. “I saw an article about low-stakes friendships. It’s a way to feel more connected to your community by taking baby steps to engage with the people around you.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Take it back,” Meg says automatically.

“Okay, but you know she’s forever sending me ‘helpful’ links about meeting people.” He leans forward. “Did she send you this? Are you two in cahoots?”

Meg lets her eyes fall closed for a long moment. “Did you really just say the words ‘in cahoots’?”

“I’ll have you know I’m extremely popular with the seventy-five and older crowd.”

“Perfect. You can reach out to them.”

“Okay, fine, what’s my assignment?”

“All you do is strike up small conversations with people you come into regular contact with. Maybe Charlie or the cashier at the grocery store or the people who go to those film festivals you like.”

“So, none of this involves talking to Dean.”

“I mean, if you want to, go for it. But if not, you’ll be deepening these little connections either way.”

Cas frowns. There really isn’t anything he can find to object to. Still, he’s not willing to concede that fact to Meg. “I can’t promise you anything...but I’m not dismissing it, either.”

She beams like he’s given her an enthusiastic yes. “That’s all I’m asking. Now tell me, how was your day?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I wrote the first chapter of this fic soon after my 2019 DCBB posted and originally Cas was going to have a cat named Waffles. Some time passed and that fic turned into Balancing Act. That's why, just like in Balancing Act, Cas is also Dean's downstairs neighbor in this one...but sadly, he's catless.


	2. Chapter 2

He makes it back to his apartment with no sign of Dean. Happily, he closes himself inside and fixes something to eat before settling onto the couch with his laptop. Scrolling through social media, he comes across a picture of the theatre two blocks away. The headline reads “Historic Theater to Close”. Dismayed, he clicks the link to read the entire article. The Drake Theatre, which had been built in 1928 as a performing arts hall and since converted to a movie theater, is slated to close by the end of the year. Cas has spent numerous hours in this theater, sitting on the crushed velvet seats, the ornate majesty of its art deco design often in marked contrast to the stark black and white foreign films or the campy low-budget sci-fi movies being shown. It’s one of the remaining few theaters in the area not tied to a big corporation, but, as he scans the article, it appears that it hasn’t been able to bring in enough money to cover expenses. As it sits in the heart of a business district, a buyer has offered an irresistible deal to purchase the land. 

Cas feels his heart sink at the thought of this beautiful and unique part of history torn down to make way for yet another grocery store or soulless apartment building. Sure, the place must require phenomenal upkeep, but razing it to the ground hardly seems like the answer. Even though he’s told himself not to a million times, he scrolls down to the bottom of the article to check the comments. 

The first commenter appears to have made an account in response to this very article.

**SavetheDrake:** This is terrible. We can’t let this place be torn down. It’s a piece of history!

**Zachariah16301:** It’s called progress. Get over it. That place is a dump.

**SavetheDrake:** It’s not a dump. It’s a treasure.

**Zachariah16301:** It’s a waste of space on valuable real estate. This is capitalism at its finest.

**Carmax1212:** I’ll be sorry to see it go. My wife and I had our first date there and we’ve been married 42 years. 

**SavetheDrake:** How do we stop this? Who do we talk to? 

**Zachariah16301:** Go hug a tree. It’ll get you just as far. I hope they build a Starbucks there. This is what happens when you show faggot movies. 

Cas feels a wave of anger flush over him. He knows better. He should just nope out of this and go about his day. Another comment appears as he sits there stewing.

**Zachariah16301:** The place is probably full of AIDS. Burning it down is the only way to save the rest of us. 

Well, Meg told him to engage with the community. With shaking hands, he makes an account. By the time he’s done that there’s another comment. 

**SavetheDrake:** You’re an asshole.

With his account in place, he types a lengthy response. Then he reads it over, deletes it, and tries again. Finally he hits post.

**Chrysler1930:** So many fallacies in so few statements, Zachariah16301. I’d link you to some scientific studies, but I don’t have that much faith in your reading abilities. 

Almost immediately SavetheDrake likes his comment. Cas knows he’s being foolish; nothing comes of trying to open a closed mind in the comments section of a news article. But he attended that LGBTQ film festival, head held high as a handful of protesters stood outside with signs and a megaphone, shouting hate-filled things in the name of Jesus. 

**Chrysler1930:** The Drake is a piece of architectural history. It would be a shame for our community to lose it. 

**SavetheDrake:** Yeah exactly. 

**Zachariah16301:** Aw boo hoo did the liberal get his feelings hurt. Maybe pray to your lord and savior Rupaul.

That doesn’t even make sense, Cas thinks.

**SavetheDrake:** That doesn’t even make sense. 

Cas smiles at his screen. 

**Zachariah16301:** Here’s an idea. Chain yourself to the front door of the building and then when the wrecking ball comes, it’ll take you out as well.

Cas sits with his hands poised above the keyboard. He should walk away. This is nothing but a waste of his time and mental energy. As he’s considering, he notices a red number one pop up in the corner of the screen. Clicking on it, he realizes it’s a private message.

**SavetheDrake:** Tell me not to kill this guy.

Cas laughs outright at that. 

**Chrysler1930:** Not worth your time. Also, I’m fresh out of bail money. 

**SavetheDrake:** You make a good point. But Jesus. 

**Chrysler1930:** I know better than to read the comments. And yet.

**SavetheDrake:** Same. It really sucks about the Drake though. I love that place. 

**Chrysler1930:** Me, too. This is a big loss. 

It’s always been easier for Cas to communicate this way. Maybe it’s that extra time he has to look over what he wants to say, maybe it’s the way he can sort of pretend he’s not really typing to a real person. Whatever it is, he has a much better track record connecting online that seems to almost mock his glaring ability to do so in real life. 

**SavetheDrake:** Do you live near there? It’s close enough that I can walk to it. 

Cas stops. He hadn’t actually considered the fact that this person could be nearby, an oversight that now seems ridiculous. Whoever feels so strongly about the theater must have lived here, if not currently then at some point in the past. And SavetheDrake is apparently a local. 

Okay, the other thing about interacting online is that it requires nothing. Just words typed on a screen. No trying to fix his hair, no awkward small talk in a crowded restaurant. Log on when you can, log off when you want. No obligation. Despite all that, he doesn’t want this complete stranger knowing where he lives. 

**Chrysler1930:** I pass it on my way to work.

It’s technically true. 

**SavetheDrake:** Ok, well I’m not giving up on this. If I find something we can do, I’ll message you and let you know. 

**Chrysler1930:** Sounds good. 

He pauses for a moment then adds one last message.

**Chrysler1930:** Stay outta jail. ;-)

Later that night, Cas lies on the couch and reflects on things. Maybe he can learn from his interaction online and be prepared for the next time he runs into Dean. Maybe he can practice an apology for not holding the elevator door. Something simple and heartfelt, thought out ahead of time and polished so that it comes out smooth and easy. _So sorry I hit the wrong button the other day._ That’s all it would take, right? Just a few simple words. Maybe he could even use the opportunity to take things further. _Can I make it up to you with a cup of coffee?_ The mere thought has Cas starting to sweat in a way that has nothing to do with the summer temperatures. The look on Dean’s face, the dismissive _no thanks_ he’s sure to receive in return. Jesus, with his luck, the elevator would screech to a broken halt between floors as soon as the words left his mouth, suspended in the trapped air between them until he prayed for the cable to snap. 

Maybe he can talk about the weather. That’s a safe subject people talk about. Cas sighs. A safe subject two people talk about when they have nothing in common, or worse, when they have no interest in anything deeper. There has to be something else he can talk about. What does he know about Dean? What does he like? Cars, apparently, from the big, sleek, black vintage car he’s always polishing in the lot. Also, loud classic rock played at any and all hours of the day. Plaid, maybe? Oh yeah, that’s a good one. Strike up a casual conversation about the merits of plaid. _Hey, so much cooler than stripes, huh? Cause they go in two directions._ Cas pulls a cushion over his face. He’s still lying there when the strains of Led Zeppelin reverberate through the ceiling. 

With effort, he pushes up off the couch to get ready for bed. In the bathroom, he thinks again about his online interaction. Maybe that’s his opening. _Did you hear they’re shutting down the Drake?_ He looks in the mirror and practices the sad shake of his head. _That’s messed up, huh?_

“It is,” Dean might say. ”In fact you and I should go see one last show there before it closes.” Cas imagines them walking the few blocks side by side, close enough that their arms brush as they walk. They’ll find seats together and as the lights go down, Dean will—

Cas is interrupted by the ding of a new text. Meg. _What’s new, pussycat._

Pulled from his reverie, Cas does another sad shake of his head. This time at his own foolishness. He forgets about Dean for the moment and focuses on the fact that at least he can report to Meg that he’s made a low-stake connection online. 

***

The next day the elevator door opens and he finds Dean already inside. He looks up from his phone and nods a casual greeting. Instead of resuming his scrolling, he continues to look at Cas, and simply being the focus of that gaze is enough to have Cas scrambling. 

“Good afternoon,” he says, and already that’s wrong. Nobody says that. In his head, words churn about. Anything but the weather. C’mon. You can do this. _Sorry about the other day. Hear about the Drake? Hit the wrong button, can you believe it? That’s so messed up._ He opens his mouth, but stops at the sound of Dean’s voice.

“Heard we’re gonna get some rain.”

“Yeah,” Cas agrees, stomach sinking. The doors open in the lobby and Cas waits for Dean to step out first so that he can pretend to busy himself by the mailboxes so as not to prolong their encounter. 

That evening he logs back on and sees he has several new messages. SavetheDrake has sent him a couple of links from other news coverage of the theater’s fate.

**SavetheDrake:** This is good, right? The more people are talking about it the better chance it has. 

Cas wants to see it survive as much as anyone, but he knows a deal this far along is pretty hard to stop. He doesn’t know anything about this person, whether they’re old or young, male, female, or what. Still, no point in crushing SavetheDrake’s spirit.

**Chrysler1930:** It can’t hurt, that’s for sure. 

He gets a response almost immediately. 

**SavetheDrake:** That’s what I figured.

**SavetheDrake:** Btw, I am not typing this from jail. Although a guy cut me off in traffic today so I had to exercise all my restraint. 

**Chrysler1930:** Glad to hear it!

**SavetheDrake:** What about you? Commit any crimes today? ;-)

For a moment, Cas wishes he were the type of person who could answer with something outrageous, pretend to be some renegade living a wild and impetuous life. He knows people get catfished online, but the amount of energy it would take to put up a front like that sounds exhausting. Instead he answers honestly, if vaguely. 

**Chrysler1930:** Nothing that exciting. Unless embarrassing myself counts as a crime against humanity. 

**SavetheDrake:** Ha! I bet nobody noticed but you. 

Cas pictures Dean’s ever-attractive face, with that almost bemused expression in response to Cas’s lame response, unable even to talk about the weather. 

**Chrysler1930:** I wish I had a fraction of your optimism. 

**SavetheDrake:** Everyone’s too busy thinking about themselves. 

Well, SavetheDrake isn’t wrong about that. Cas isn’t sure where this is going, so he steers the conversation back to the original, safe subject.

**Chrysler1930:** Too bad they aren’t thinking more about saving the Drake. 

***

Dean doesn’t understand why his neighbor hates him. The other day he clearly saw him lugging his groceries through the lobby and even though Dean asked him to hold the elevator, the guy’s eyes never left his as he deliberately closed the doors in his face. Dean knows he can be A Lot to some people...he likes loud music, a powerful engine, and having a good time. But he’s used to people returning his smiles and extending conversations, not shutting them down. Something about the fact that this guy--this Cas--wants nothing to do with him grates on him more than he’d like to admit. 

He knows how to charm people, he’s de-escalated as many bar fights as he’s started, so what is it about this guy who seems not just immune to him, but to actively dislike him? It shouldn’t bother him, he’s just one out of the many people Dean comes into contact with, but somehow, the more Dean tries to be friendly, or hell, even just neighborly, the more Cas seems to want no part of it. 

He remembers the day he ran into Cas by the mailboxes. As soon as he approached, Cas seemed to be in a hurry to get away, effectively yanking his mail out of the box, scattering a few pieces on the floor as he did so. Dean bent down to help pick them up, trying to make conversation as he did, but Cas jerked his hand back when they’d reached for the same envelope, not even thanking Dean for his help. 

But here’s the thing. Dean’s seen Cas at the coffee shop in the neighborhood. He’s seen him smile and chat with Charlie. Sometimes he drinks his coffee, losing himself in some thick, dense-looking book, his face moving between soft enjoyment and focused concentration. Sometimes he meets a woman there. Dean can’t help but notice that when that happens it’s like an entirely different Cas. His face loses the mask of tension, he relaxes, those intense blue eyes sparkling with amusement as he laughs at something the woman says. Dean doesn’t mean to stare, but he never sees any overt signs of romantic affection between them, no holding hands or kissing when they greet each other. A tiny voice in his head wonders why Cas never looks like that when he looks at Dean. Not everyone has to like you, he tells himself. That’s not how people work. 

Still, Dean can’t seem to let it go. He even tried a new approach, coming at him in a more low key way to draw him out. He went with something nobody could object to: an easy chat about the weather. A safe topic, tried and true. Yet, when he’d attempted it in the elevator a few days ago, all he got was a defeated look and a half-hearted agreement. Maybe Cas has just decided he’s too dumb to waste his time on. 

Whatever. 

In more pressing matters, he needs to figure out what to do about the Drake closing. The truth of the matter is that he hasn’t set foot in there for years. A flicker of guilt and disappointment moves through him at that thought. In not supporting them with his presence and his money, he’s part of the problem. The theater holds such an important place in his heart, though. He always assumed it would be there. 

He opens up his computer to see if this Chrysler person has responded. Dean doesn’t know a thing about them, but they like the Drake and apparently cars and shut down that Zachariah asshole in a way that Dean never could. 

Chrysler hasn’t, but Dean’s got nothing else to do so he sends another message. 

**SavetheDrake:** So you like cars, huh?

It’s a while before he gets a message back. 

**Chrysler1930:** Did you mean to send this to me?

Dean blinks at his screen.

**SavetheDrake:** Dude, your username is literally Chrysler. 

The response comes quickly.

**Chrysler1930:** OH!

**Chrysler1930:** It’s actually a reference to the Chrysler building in Chicago. Similar architectural era to the Drake.

**SavetheDrake:** Oh of course, how did I not get that. 

**Chrysler1930:** Sorry for the confusion.

**SavetheDrake:** Nah, it’s cool. I just like talking cars. 

**Chrysler1930:** I’m not exactly a car guy. I don’t even have one.

Okay well, now Dean knows Chrysler is a guy at least. He’d love to go on about his Baby, but internet safety is a thing, so he keeps it vague. 

**SavetheDrake:** I love mine, but city driving pretty much sucks. 

**Chrysler1930:** We’re lucky to have good public transportation.

Dean thinks about sitting in traffic, with bus exhaust fogging his windshield. He decides to leave that alone. 

**SavetheDrake:** Ok, so Chrysler doesn’t mean cars. Does that mean 1930 isn’t when you were born?

Chrysler sends back three laughing/crying emojis

**Chrysler1930:** Nah, that’s off by about 60 years

**SavetheDrake:** Omg you were born in 1870??

Chrysler sends the “hello fellow teenagers” gif.

This time Dean sends the laughing/crying emojis. 

**Chrysler1930:** Nice talking to you. Gotta go wind my Victrola. Catch you later!

**SavetheDrake:** Bye!

Dean grins and logs out. It’s no Victrola, but he does own an actual record player and this seems like a perfect time to pull out some vinyl. He sets the needle down carefully, reveling in the few seconds of crackling hiss before the opening notes of “Whole Lotta Love” begin to play. He sings along as he makes himself dinner, bringing his bowl of cereal back to the couch to eat. 

***

Cas sighs as the music begins to blare from upstairs, idly wondering if a Victrola would be better or worse. It’s early still, not like Dean is doing anything rude...just part of apartment living, Cas reminds himself. He has to admit it was nice to hear from SavetheDrake. Cas knew it was his turn to respond, but he hadn’t come across anything new worth discussing regarding the theater. It’s not a big deal, he knows, but for SavetheDrake to have contacted him again just to chat was a tiny bit flattering. 

If nothing else, he can report it to Meg. 

Cas wonders if he’s the only man on the planet who doesn’t care about cars. Between this guy online and Dean, it seems like everyone’s favorite topic. Cas doesn’t own one, never has. He has his driver’s license but to be honest, learning how to drive is one of his least favorite memories. How in the world are you supposed to pilot a chunk of metal, glass, and flammable liquid at high speed all the while trusting that other people doing the same thing will stay in their lanes? He loves to walk when he can, and when he can't, public transportation is a complete blessing. He’s not sure why he feels defensive about the whole thing; no one is judging him one way or the other. Still, he imagines Dean pulling up alongside another guy in a fancy car, pictures Dean giving the other driver a little lift of his chin in acknowledgement while Cas looks on from above as his bus lumbers past. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam invites Dean to meet him and some friends at the bar, Dean knows it’s a pity invite. He and Lisa have been broken up for a few months, but it’s almost her birthday and Dean had talked to Sam about trying to plan a special weekend away for it. Dean’s not exactly a bed and breakfast yoga retreat guy, but that’s what Lisa liked and he was willing to do what it took to keep her happy.

Only, it turns out it wasn’t what he did that she didn’t like. It was just him. Nonetheless, she let him down so easy that when all was said and done, he found he was almost relieved. Not like he’s been lacking for companionship in the meantime. He likes to keep his options open.

Still, pity invite or not, Dean is always happy to see his brother and have a Saturday night out. As he’s exiting the elevator, he sees Cas in the lobby with what is clearly take out from the local Thai restaurant. Dean points at the bag. “Did you get the Pad Thai?”

Cas blinks a few times. “Curry. I’ve never tried their Pad Thai.”

Dean opens his mouth in over-exaggerated shock, one hand coming to his heart. “Never?”

“Have you tried the curry?” Cas says as he gets into the elevator.

“Why would I when the Pad Thai is right there?” The doors close just as he says it, but Dean’s gratified by the small smile that he sees on Cas’s face first. Maybe next time he’ll try the curry.

By the time he gets to the bar, Sam is already there with Jo and Ash and Kevin, and he pours Dean a beer from the pitcher on the table. They shift around to make room for him and he slides in next to Kevin. Immediately they all raise their glasses for a toast. “What’s the occasion?”

“To getting laid,” Jo says.

Dean will always drink to that, so he clinks his glass to theirs and sucks down a long, fortifying swallow of cold beer.

It feels good to lose himself a bit in the music and noise. Everyone is talking and laughing and Ash nearly convinces them to go do karaoke someplace down the block. But just when Dean should be feeling loose and mellow, he finds himself sliding past that happy phase and into something a bit more melancholy. He leans over to Jo. “Did you hear they’re closing the Drake?”

But either she can’t hear him or she doesn’t care, because she just smiles and nods in an agreeable manner. Dean sighs and gets up to go to the bathroom, the quiet there highlighting the beginnings of the headache he’s sprouting. He goes back out into the clamoring press of bodies to find his brother, who is flashing his dimples at their server as she brings another pitcher and some nachos.

Dean slides in beside him and tugs at a chip. All the cheese slides off. “You hear they’re gonna close the Drake, Sammy?”

Sam takes a loaded chip and chews as he nods. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“It’s like a landmark or something.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I went,” Sam says. “Which is probably a lot of the issue.”

“Yeah, me either,” Dean says. “But--”

He’s cut off when Sam leans past him to call to someone across the way. “‘Scuse me, Dean,” he says, trying to get his ridiculous limbs out of the booth.

Annoyed, Dean shoves at his shoulder. “Gimme a second.” He gets to his feet so that his brother can scramble past him. Instead of sitting back down, Dean fishes some money out of his pocket and hands it to Kevin who is the only one still at the table. “I’m heading out.”

Kevin raises his eyebrows. “Everything good?” Many a time Dean has been the last one standing (staggering) trying to convince the gang to keep partying.

He rubs his temple. “Headache. Can you let Sam know?”

“Yeah sure. Feel better, Dean.”

Even back in the quiet of his own apartment, the headache doesn’t ease. He finds himself getting more and more pissed at his brother for blowing off his conversation. Jesus, Sam’s always trying to get him to have chick flick moments and then when Dean tries to talk, he’s climbing over him like he can’t get away fast enough.

Dean flops onto his couch. Why should Sam care? He wasn’t even there. In his mind, Dean gets a flash of gold, and the memory of something sweet and floral. He feels the emotion welling in his chest, like it’s going to burst through tissue and bone and skin if he doesn’t get it out some other way. He opens up his computer.

**SavetheDrake:** i know it’s saturday night and you’re probably doing something fun but the thing is that my mom died when i was pretty young and one of the few memories i have of her is when she took me to the Drake to see the Wizard of Oz. I remember being scared of the wicked witch and climbing onto her lap to hide my face in her hair. And afterwards, she lifted me up so I could drink from the water fountain, you know the one right under that big, fancy mirror? So like maybe this is partially my fault for not going there more as an adult.

Dean hits send before he can stop himself. He re-reads the message after the fact and adds:

**SavetheDrake:** sorry to ramble

To his surprise, he soon sees Chrysler typing.

**Chrysler1930:** I’m sorry, that must’ve been extremely difficult. What a lovely memory, I can see why the theater is so special to you.

Dean sees himself safe in his mother’s arms, their images reflected back at them in the mirror.

**SavetheDrake:** Thanks

He rubs at his jaw for a moment.

**SavetheDrake:** i didn’t think you’d actually answer

He gets back the shrug emoji in return.

**Chrysler1930:** My Saturday nights aren’t that exciting.

**SavetheDrake:** I was out earlier. It wasn’t actually that fun.

**SavetheDrake:** Ok well I won’t keep you. Thanks for the nice response.

It _was_ a nice response, Dean reflects. Sometimes people don’t know what to do when he mentions his mom. They like to get over-the-top sympathetic, like he’s been crying non-stop over it for the past twenty-two years. Or they’ll quickly try to one-up him with some tragedy of their own. From these experiences, Dean’s learned the best response is the type he just got: a mere acknowledgement of what he’s disclosed paired with some genuine empathy. He wonders if Chrysler1930 has lost someone as well.

He wanders into the kitchen for a glass of water. The headache was a convenient excuse, but it wasn’t a lie. What does it mean if he’s getting sick of the bar scene at the ripe old age of twenty-six? Probably this was just a one-off, too many things converging at the same time. The Drake closing, Lisa’s birthday. He consoles himself with the fact that, instead of getting blackout drunk like he used to, he’s actually opened up. Okay, fine, it was to a perfect stranger on the internet.

“Still counts,” he mutters out loud. Not that he can tell anybody he did or anything, but he has to admit he feels better.

***

It’s always a crapshoot when Dean comes home on a weekend night, Cas reflects, when he hears footsteps upstairs. For a while, he saw Dean in the frequent company of a pretty, dark-haired woman. While Cas hasn’t seen her around lately, it hasn’t stopped him from being the captive audience of Dean’s sexual escapades any number of times. It’s not unusual for him to drag his pillow and blanket out to the couch to escape the creaking bed springs and banging headboard in the room directly above his own.

Not like he can blame those women, whoever they are. Given a chance to spend some time in Dean Winchester’s bed, he’d be all over it. That self-awareness adds a tint of jealousy to his reaction to Dean’s return home and he finds himself even more irritated at the prospect of being an unwilling audience. Not enough to actually say or do anything about it, though. In those moments, he’s grateful that he can only make out a mere hint of voices. No way could he face Dean in the elevator if he was privy to all his bedroom talk. It’s just the bed, really. Maybe Cas could leave a can of WD-40 anonymously outside Dean’s door.

He’s pondering the likelihood of being able to Mission Impossible his way there and back without being seen through Dean’s peephole when he gets a message notification from SavetheDrake.

It’s a sad message about a memory he has of his mother taking him to the theater as a child. Cas and his mother aren’t super close, but he can’t imagine having grown up without her. He has no idea about the rest of SavetheDrake’s family, but that had to have been a trauma to them all. It makes sense that he reacted so strongly to the closing, the news spurring him to make that account in the first place.

Cas is glad he feels comfortable sharing this, but a frisson of caution travels along his spine. Is he going to be the kind of guy who thinks Cas is his personal therapist? An online relationship can make it easy to blur those interpersonal boundaries and Cas has spent plenty of time in group chats where one or two people thought it was everyone else’s jobs to be on call for their every need for attention.

He could’ve ignored the message--maybe pretending like he hadn’t seen it until tomorrow morning, but there was something so heartfelt about it that he couldn’t let it sit there after he’d read it. While Cas doesn’t regret the swift, but genuine, response he sent back, a part of him is relieved that he got a quick thank you and an end to tonight’s exchange.

If he’s not wrong, Dean came home alone tonight. They’d had a small but decent interaction earlier in the evening, one where Cas at least didn’t embarrass himself or do anything that could’ve been interpreted as rude. On top of that, the curry was--as always--delicious, and there was even enough leftover for his lunch tomorrow. Still, maybe next time he’ll give the Pad Thai a chance. If nothing else, it might strengthen his argument for the curry.

Smiling, Cas pictures himself leaving a container of curry along with the WD-40 outside Dean’s door.

***

A few days later, Dean finds himself sitting in front of his laptop as he eats leftover spaghetti that he didn’t even heat up completely.

**SavetheDrake:** Sorry about the chick flick moment the other night

Hours pass before Dean gets a response.

**Chrysler1930:** Don’t worry about it. It’s always easier to open up to someone anonymously.

**Chrysler1930:** Hey, i actually just came here to message you

**SavetheDrake:** what’s up?

**Chrysler1930:** i found some information on how to designate a building a historic place

Dean looks at his screen with raised eyebrows.

**SavetheDrake:** dude you think that would work?

**Chrysler1930:** Honestly i don’t know, but i think it’s worth a shot

**SavetheDrake:** ok what do we do first

Chrysler sends him a link and Dean scrolls through it, already overwhelmed merely from reading the main page.

**SavetheDrake:** this is A LOT

**Chrysler1930:** I find it a bit concerning that it has an entire section on “managing your expectations”

**SavetheDrake:** yeah

**SavetheDrake:** jesus christ this place is like 90 goddamn years old how has nobody done this before?

He grits his teeth. Maybe Chrysler is a religious guy who will be offended by Dean’s blasphemous language.

**Chrysler1930:** honestly

Dean relaxes and there’s a long pause while they both (Dean assumes) click through the website that outlines the various steps. Dean’s reading, but the words are starting to all run together in his mind, the thought of all the time and effort beginning to weigh him down. He hesitates, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

It’s not that he doesn’t think this is important, it’s just that he doesn’t think he’s the one who can do this. It’s not lost on him that he jumped on this bandwagon all fired up, and now he’s pulling back. He’s a smart guy, but only in some ways. He knows his way around an engine. He’s good with people. But this shit--all these forms and documents and petitions. That’s not his thing. Plus, he has a full time job and this looks like it’s going to require a lot of time. He’s trying to figure out a way to say some of this when he sees the notification that Chrysler is typing.

**Chrysler1930:** This is a lot more involved than I realized. I mean I knew it would be a process, but this seems really drawn out. It says the nomination process itself can take two to five years.

**SavetheDrake:** yeah i saw that

**Chrysler1930:** Maybe if I had nothing else to do, but I work full time.

Dean feels some relief course through him.

**SavetheDrake:** yeah same. What kind of work do you do?

**Chrysler1930:** I work downtown in the financial district. You?

Dean’s not ashamed of being a mechanic, but compared to that it sounds a little lame. Still, vague is good in a situation like this.

**SavetheDrake:** i work in fleet maintenance for a trucking company

If it makes it sound like he’s sitting at a desk all day in front of a computer, then he’s not about to correct that.

**Chrysler1930:** cool

**Chrysler1930:** Well, I hope I didn’t get your hopes up for nothing

**SavetheDrake:** nah it was good to see what’s involved

**SavetheDrake:** we’ll keep thinking

**Chrysler1930:** Sounds good. I’ve gotta run but ttyl

Other than swiping right on a dating site, Dean’s never done much online chatting. He tends to read a lot, nodding when he finds comments he agrees with, but generally staying on the sidelines. He’d made this account impulsively, the flare of outrage at the news article spurring him into it. Then, not five minutes later, he’d gotten into it with some asshat in the comments. Jesus, it was so pathetically stereotypical. He has no real reason to keep this account, but still, he finds himself checking in frequently, looking for new messages from Chrysler1930. He isn’t sure why, exactly. He knows he’s not good with… feelings and all that shit, but opening up the other night to him had felt weirdly reassuring. It was nice to feel heard, and by someone who didn’t have years of expectations about him skewing the response. Not that he’s going to get in the habit of baring his soul, but he finds that he’s not filled with regret the way he assumed he would be. And then today, to hear him say that he’d been coming online specifically to tell Dean something… he wasn’t prepared for the little lift he got at knowing Chrysler thought about Dean when they weren’t actively chatting. It doesn’t mean anything, of course, but there’s still something kind of cool about it.

Dean knows people who have met and created long-lasting friendships online, hell, Charlie met her current girlfriend in a chatroom for some fandom thing. It’s never been how he operates, but Dean thinks he’s gotten a little taste of the appeal. It’s nice to meet someone he can talk to without any other expectations or obligations.


	4. Chapter 4

Meg’s running late and the coffee shop is crowded, but Cas manages to score an empty table. Crossword Guy has his bag on the second comfy chair and no amount of passive-aggressive glaring on Cas’s part seems to make a difference. As far as Cas can tell, he never actually meets anyone, so he’s not saving the seat. He simply likes to keep that corner all to himself. 

Cas looks up at the sound of the door opening, his righteous outrage building as he waits to share it with Meg. It’s not Meg, though, it’s Dean. Immediately, Cas glances back down at his table, afraid of being caught staring, but Dean seems not to have even noticed him. Cas picks his phone up off the table and pretends to be looking at it while he watches Dean at the counter. He and Charlie chat animatedly and Cas finds himself smiling too when Dean tosses back his head and laughs at something Charlie says. When Dean has his coffee in hand, he turns to survey the seating and Cas nearly injures his neck as he whips his head down to fake digging something out of his backpack. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean enter his field of vision, but then he’s gone again. Cas gives it another few seconds before he chances a look up. 

Dean’s in the corner, gesturing to the comfy chair occupied only by Crossword Guy’s shopping bag. Cas watches as the guy shakes his head. At that moment, Dean turns on his heel and locks eyes with Cas. He lifts his chin in greeting, and Cas raises a hand to say hello back. A moment later, he’s striding toward Cas. 

“Hey there, Cas. Try the Pad Thai yet?”

Cas smiles. “I haven’t been back there.”

“Me either.” Dean purses his plush lips, like he’s considering something. “Not that I’m gonna get it, but which curry do you like?” 

“Oh, of course not. But it’s the red curry.” Does Dean want to sit down? Should Cas invite him to sit? 

“Hey, what’s with that guy?” Dean jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

Cas narrows his eyes. “What did he tell you? Did he say he’s meeting someone?”

“Yes, but he never does, right?”

“Never,” Cas agrees. “He just likes that corner all to himself.”

“That’s some bullshit,” Dean says. “You can’t just hold seats like that when it’s this crowded.”

That’s Cas’s opening. “Did you want to--” Just then he catches sight of Meg standing behind Dean. She’s smiling broadly, her mouth open and eyes wide in an expression that clearly says _Well, look what we have here_. It’s enough for Cas to lose his nerve. “Oh, hey, Meg.”

Meg steps forward gamely. “Cas, hello.” She narrows her eyes at him before turning to Dean. “Hello, there. I’m Meg. You’re Cas’s neighbor, right?”

Dean switches hands with the coffee cup to shake her hand. “Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you, would you like to join us?” She turns back to Cas, eyes wide with faux innocence.

Cas has been sitting dumbly as he watches Meg and Dean interact, only a tiny bit worried that Meg will divulge all of his secrets, but he manages to find his voice. “Guess what Crossword Guy told Dean.”

“Oh, he’s not meeting anyone,” Meg says loudly. They all turn to look at Crossword Guy, but if he’s heard her, he remains unfazed. 

“That guy’s the worst,” Cas agrees. Across the way, he sees a couple of people vacating a table. 

“Nice to meet you, Meg,” Dean says, effortless charm oozing off him. “Nice to see you, Cas.” He starts to turn toward the empty table, then looks back, making a finger gun at Cas, “Pad Thai.”

Cas lifts his cup in a toast. “Red curry.”

He’s still smiling when Meg pulls out a chair with a loud scraping sound. “What in the fuck was that all about?” Her face is absolutely gleeful and she makes tiny finger guns at him. “Pad Thai,” she adds in a deep voice. 

Cas shrugs like it’s no big deal. 

It feels like a very big deal. 

Do he and Dean have a thing now? An inside joke? “Dean and I--” he begins, and even saying those words sends a tiny thrill down his spine. “We had a discussion in the lobby the other night about what’s best to order at the Thai place on the corner.”

Meg nods, listening intently. “And then he remembered and brought it up again when he saw you here.”

Cas tries for a casual sip of his coffee. “Yeah, I guess.”

Meg whacks him on the shoulder. “Nicely done, dude.”

“I guess.” He feels weird with Meg making a big deal out of this and quickly moves to deflect the conversation. “I mean, it’s not like the guy I’ve been talking to online who confessed about his dead mother to me.”

“Jesus, Cas. You make it sound like he murdered her. Wait, did he murder her?”

He winces. “That came out wrong. It’s that guy I told you about? The one who messaged me about the Drake shutting down. We’ve been talking a little bit about what, if anything we can do about it, and he was telling me the reason why the theater felt so special to him is one of the few memories he has of his mother is going there with her as a little boy.” He doesn’t tell her more, not about the specific movie or being lifted up to the water fountain under the mirror. They aren’t his memories and it doesn’t feel right to share them. 

Meg leans back in her chair. “Look at you go. You’re really connecting with people.”

Cas hates it when she’s right. Hates that she’s always so insufferably smug about it. Hates especially that he knows she’s earned every bit of it. The truth of the matter is that chatting with SavetheDrake has given him a little bit of confidence and, in turn, that’s made him better able to carry on a few actual conversations with Dean. Like SavetheDrake said that one day, probably nobody is being as hard about the mistakes he makes as he is. Either way, if he fucks up with Dean he can probably laugh about it afterwards with SavetheDrake. 

Still. He can’t give Meg too much too soon, so he downplays. “I’m making small talk.”

“I walk in here and you’re holding a full-fledged conversation”-- she leans forward to whisper the next part meaningfully--” _with Dean Winchester_ in public. And even when he left, you aren’t hustling me out of here so you can go bang your head against a lamp post.”

Cas glances over to where Dean is sitting. He takes in the lines of his profile and his perfectly yet effortlessly styled hair. Cas pictures himself getting up to take his mug to the dirty dish bin, turning to smile at Dean, then tripping and accidentally pulling the fire alarm. In his mind’s eye, Dean jumps to his feet and spills hot coffee all over himself. “There’s still time.” 

***

Dean’s not sure how it happened, but somehow he and Chrysler1930 have been chatting nearly every night for a week. Sure, it started as discussions mainly about the Drake, but over time it has evolved a bit more into the whole _How was your day_ territory. They’re both being super cautious about anything even remotely personal, but they live in the same city so it’s easy to talk about the thunderstorm that blew through the other night or the water main that burst downtown, backing up traffic for hours. 

Chrysler seems to always type in nice, complete sentences which makes Dean think he’s a smart guy. By making some jokes about getting the senior citizen discount at the theater, Dean’s been able to determine that Chrysler is two years older than he is. Provided he’s telling the truth, of course. Dean’s been trying to think of a casual way to ask Charlie how to tell if he’s being catfished, but even that seems like opening a can of worms. (He did open an incognito tab to look because maybe searching “am i being catfished” is how catfishers find you.) Then he spends some time worrying that maybe he’s gotten caught up in some sort of sex trafficking situation, based on… well, based on nothing actually. Then he remembers he’s the one who initiated their first conversation and determines he doesn’t need to worry about that. 

Probably.

Communicating in person is easier, he decides. He likes being able to see the effect he has on people, if they’re laughing at his jokes, if their body language is open and receptive. Kind of like when he talks to Cas lately. Maybe he was wrong about the guy not liking him. Maybe he’s just shy and awkward. Like one of those nerdy, booksmart guys. Idly, he wonders if Cas ever wears glasses. Although there’s nothing nerdy about the guy. He’s fucking ripped. Dean’s apartment overlooks the street and he’s seen Cas coming back from runs with his sweat-dampened shirt clinging to him and those unbelievable thighs. 

Dean shifts in his seat. _Anyhow._

Lately, when he runs into Cas, they’re able to have some easy conversation. Yes, the Thai food bit is kind of lame, but Cas grins each time, holding tight to his preference on that damn red curry. Sometimes Dean thinks maybe he could say, “Let’s settle this once and for all,” and invite him to the restaurant, but that’s a huge step past whatever delicate connection they’ve forged. Cas spends a lot of time looking serious, so Dean likes that he can make him smile. He actually thought Cas was maybe going to invite him to sit down at the coffee shop that day, right before his friend arrived. 

He’s still considering whether they would’ve gotten past discussing Thai food and Crossword Guy when he gets a new message. 

**Chrysler1930:** Did you get rained on this evening?

 **SavetheDrake:** just running from the car inside. You?

 **Chrysler1930:** I carry an umbrella like an actual, responsible grown up.

Dean smiles, then says out loud, “So, this is how it’s gonna be?” 

**SavetheDrake:** did you mean a bus riding loser?

 **Chrysler1930:** Wow

While it seems like a light-hearted reply, Dean worries he’s been rude. His fingers hover over the keys wondering if he needs to apologize, but then he sees Chrysler is typing. 

**Chrysler1930:** Big talk from a gas guzzling planet killer.

 **SavetheDrake:** hey maybe i drive an electric car

 **Chrysler1930:** Do you?

 **SavetheDrake:** no and honestly just typing that made me throw up in my mouth a little bit

 **Chrysler1930:** Ha! I knew it!

Dean would love to send a pic of his Baby but he might as well post every last bit of identifying information if he’s going to do that. 

**SavetheDrake:** was there no one who could pick you up? 

Dean knows exactly what he’s asking; he wonders if Chrysler does, too. There seems to be a longer than usual pause before the next reply. Or maybe he’s imagining that. 

**Chrysler1930:** I live alone. My neighbor is a car guy like you. Maybe he’d hire himself out as a taxi. 

Okay, so no wife and family, that much is clear. Neighbor...sounds like he lives in an actual house. Makes sense if he works down in the financial district.

 **SavetheDrake:** i like this guy already. You got his number? 

***

“As I mentioned before, the projections for the end of the quarter seem to be directly in line with…”

Cas tries his best to focus, but the speaker’s voice seems to drone at an unchanging frequency that does nothing but reverberate in his skull, somehow creating its own white noise. He’ll never understand why these meetings are mandatory when the same information could be easily accomplished with an email, all without effectively paralyzing the productivity of the entire division for hours. With no end in sight, Cas finds himself desperate for distraction and, after double checking that no one can see his screen, he clicks over to scroll through and re-read some of his messages with SavetheDrake. It does the trick, and he actually has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. 

What began as an irregular burst of chatting in the evenings has evolved into something a bit more ongoing. It started last week when Cas woke up to a new message. 

**SavetheDrake:** I’m sure you’re asleep but it’s so hot tonight and i started thinking how amazing a cold, dark theater is in the middle of summer.

It had been a muggy, sticky night. The apartment building was old, retaining all the summer heat and Cas had lain awake, trying to position as much of his body as he could in front of the open window. It didn’t help that he could hear Dean moving around upstairs. It was a tradeoff, open his windows to try and cool things down and let in the noise of the neighborhood or keep things closed up and quietly swelter in place. 

It wasn’t a message that required a response, but Cas found himself dashing one off anyhow before he got ready for work. 

**Chrysler1930:** Bad night for sleeping. I love that moment of coming out of the theater and blinking into the sunlight again. Or realizing day has turned to night while you were inside. 

Cas seems to go to bed earlier, but that just means he often has a new message from SavetheDrake to respond to in the mornings. He doesn’t know the specifics of SavetheDrake’s job, but as the days go on, Cas has a pretty good idea of when he has free time during his work day. He’ll hear from him in the morning before he gets to work, and then generally nothing until lunchtime. The meeting he’s currently being held hostage in falls during that morning stretch where SavetheDrake is unavailable, so maybe that’s why Cas, bored out of his mind, decides to send him a series of messages.

 **Chrysler1930:** I’m trapped in the world’s most boring meeting

 **Chrysler1930:** I’m pretending these messages are notes that I’m taking

 **Chrysler1930:** very important notes

 **Chrysler1930:** EXTREMELY IMPORTANT 

**Chrysler1930:** how can anyone spend so much time saying absolutely nothing

 **Chrysler1930:** if you start each sentence with “as i’ve previously said” then guess what

 **Chrysler1930:** YOU DON’T NEED TO SAY IT AGAIN

 **Chrysler1930:** not to be dramatic but 

**Chrysler1930:** i’m going to DIE HERE

 **Chrysler1930:** please stop talking

 **Chrysler1930:** please

 **Chrysler1930:** i am begging you

Cas doesn’t realize he has notifications on until a loud chime causes him to jerk upright in his seat, flailing to silence his laptop while all eyes turn to him. In his haste, he knocks over his glass of water. Thankfully it moves away from his laptop. Less thankfully, the water rushes across the gleaming table top to land in his co-worker’s lap. Cas barely has time to read the message before slamming his computer shut. 

**SavetheDrake:** getting some mixed messages here, buddy. should i be responding or not? 

He jumps to his feet, apologizing and awkwardly holding out a paper napkin, torn between trying to help clean up the water and feeling pretty sure he shouldn't be reaching toward her lap. ”I’m so sorry.”

His colleague takes the napkin from him and, to his surprise, she begins to laugh. Before excusing herself to go clean up in the bathroom, she leans in slightly to murmur, “Oh thank God, you’ve given me an escape.” 

Face burning, Cas sits back down, but his boss has now gotten to his feet. “This seems like as good a time as any to wrap things up.” 

Cas wonders if he should apologize again for the disturbance, but the rest of the team are gathering their things. A couple of them smile at him on the way out, and one slaps his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

Still stunned, Cas goes back to his office and reopens his laptop. 

**Chrysler1930:** omg

 **Chrysler1930:** You would not believe what just happened. 

**SavetheDrake:** what

 **SavetheDrake:** did you die and ascend to heaven

 **Chrysler1930:** Hardly. But I wish I could have escaped this mortal plane. I didn’t realize my sound was on and your message came through super loud.

 **SavetheDrake:** omg

 **Chrysler1930:** So I scrambled to shut off my sound and in doing so…

 **Chrysler1930:** I knocked over a glass of water into my co-worker’s lap

 **SavetheDrake:** holy shit

 **SavetheDrake:** that’s amazing

 **SavetheDrake:** did you get fired?

 **Chrysler1930:** Honestly? Everyone was so happy about it being an excuse to end the meeting that I think I may get a promotion.

 **SavetheDrake:** Pretty sure I get a percentage of any raise you get as a result. 

Cas grins at his computer. He wants to type _I’ll buy you a drink with it_ but it feels like taking a step too far over whatever boundaries they’ve set for themselves. 

**Chrysler1930:** I’d better get back to work

It’s funny. Before, Cas would’ve spent the rest of the day stewing over his mistake. Even though it ended up not being a big deal, he would’ve gone over it again and again, turning it over in his mind, spending time examining it from every possible angle and beating himself up for his carelessness and unprofessional behavior. Something about being able to tell it to SavetheDrake, though, turned it into nothing more than a funny story, one he could maybe even share with other people. He pictures himself sitting at a bar, surrounded by a group of friends as he regales them with the story. Maybe Dean is there, laughing as he raises up his glass of beer for a toast. He allows himself to think about that for two whole seconds before shaking his head and refocusing on the stack of paper on his desk.

***

In the breakroom during his lunch, Dean sits and reads back through their exchange. It strikes him again just how funny Chrysler is. Maybe he should’ve realized that back from the very start when his comments taking down that asshole seemed to drip with sarcasm. While they’ve been chatting more and more lately, he’d still been surprised when he checked his messages during a quick break this morning and found that whole flurry of them. 

He pictures himself innocently hitting send on his message and Chrysler’s computer announcing it with like, a foghorn or something. Involuntarily, he snorts. 

“What’s so funny?” Benny asks. 

Dean whips his head up. “Oh. My friend--” already that’s weird. Is Chrysler his friend? Can you call someone that when you don’t even know their name? “He knocked over a glass of water into his co-worker’s lap in the middle of a meeting.” 

Benny raises his eyebrows. “Someone here?”

“No.” Benny continues to look at him like he’s waiting to hear the rest and Dean scrambles to add some more detail. “He works in the financial district.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know him?”

These are not unreasonable questions, Dean thinks. When you relate a story about a friend these are the sorts of details you know. What are Dean’s choices here? _Well, I don’t know him exactly. We met on the internet and somehow are messaging back and forth all day long._ Not bad. Seems kind of reasonable. Probably will lead to more questions, though. _Well, I don’t know him exactly. In fact I don’t even know his name but he lives somewhere in this city and he’s probably--no, definitely-- going to track me down and kill me in my sleep one night._ That one will undoubtedly lead to more questions. 

Instead, after too much time has passed and Benny is still looking at him expectantly, only now with added brow furrowing, Dean panics and holds his phone to his ear. “Gotta take this,” he says, and scurries out of the breakroom. 

He doesn’t stop until he’s closed himself in the bathroom down the hall, where he finds himself smiling at Chrysler’s messages again. Maybe he should listen to his own concerns and slow things down, be more mindful of internet safety. Instead he sends a new message. 

**SavetheDrake:** I just told one of my co-workers about your adventure. He asked how I knew you. I didn’t know how to answer that so now I’m hiding in the bathroom pretending I’m taking a call. 

**Chrysler1930:** Hmmm Why didn’t you just say “He’s a stranger I’ve been talking to on the internet”? 

**SavetheDrake:** Right? “Guy who probably won’t stalk and kill me.”

 **Chrysler1930:** I appreciate the probably.

He follows that with the knife, sword, hammer and bomb emojis. 

Dean sends back the ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I was writing some of this chapter during the early weeks of quarantine so everyone please scroll back up and appreciate my shelter in place/swelter in place pun!


	5. Chapter 5

The heat wave has settled over the city, leaving the air unrelentingly humid and stagnant. With scarcely a breeze to be found, Cas leaves for work, pondering what his commute would be like if he didn’t have to walk a block and a half to the bus stop, only to be crowded together with other commuters before walking from the stop to his office building. He’ll be lucky if his suit isn’t a damp, wrinkled mess before his work day even starts. 

As if to mock him, Dean is on the elevator in a tight fitting black t-shirt and jeans. “Fuck this fucking heat wave.”

Cas laughs, delighted at Dean’s honest assessment. “Get back to me when you’re forced to wear a suit to work.”

He wishes he hadn’t said it because Dean’s eyes trail the length of his body. There’s a beat before he speaks again. “Okay, but air conditioned office?”

“Yes, but that’s provided I survive the bus to get there.”

They get out at the lobby and walk easily together out the front door. “Day like this I want to blow everything off and go sit in a pool or a movie theater or something. Hey, you hear they’re closing the Drake?”

Cas stops walking so suddenly that he hears someone on the sidewalk swear as they swerve around him. “I did hear that, yes.” He’s not sure why he’s so surprised to hear the topic come out of Dean’s mouth. “I hate to see it go, it’s a real jewel in the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, same.” Dean pulls his sunglasses down from where they’ve been pushed up on his head. He looks stunning, with the morning sun glinting off his hair. “Have a good one,” he says, before turning toward the parking lot. 

“You, too.” Cas realizes he’s already sweating. Sighing, he joins the crowd of people on the sidewalk. On the bus, he takes out his phone to reply to the message he woke up to. 

**SavetheDrake:** I’m never going to sleep again.

**Chrysler1930:** This heat is the worst. Hope you got some rest. 

He doesn’t hear back until lunch time. 

**SavetheDrake:** some. Not enough. Thank god for coffee. 

**Chrysler1930:** Hot or iced?

**SavetheDrake:** real men don’t drink iced coffee

Cas smiles. 

**Chrysler1930:** i wouldn’t go that far, but you’re right. It’s never too hot for hot coffee.

**Chrysler1930:** or soup

**SavetheDrake:** wow, you were so close to being right. SO CLOSE.

**Chrysler1930:** Don’t tell me you’re anti-soup. This could be a deal breaker. 

**SavetheDrake:** Look i have a lot to say on this subject but lucky for you, my lunch is over. 

In the office cafeteria, Cas gathers up his empty soup bowl and spoon and returns them to the dirty dish area. He likes his job, likes the people he works with, but he realizes he’s had more conversation with the random guy online over the past few weeks than he has with any of his co-workers. Maybe Meg was right. Maybe he should be doing more reaching out. To be honest, he’s noticed even his conversations with Dean have gone better lately. He’s less of a nervous wreck and he’s pretty sure some of that confidence comes from the ongoing interaction he’s been having online. Whatever the reason--at least for now--he’s stopped embarrassing himself in front of Dean Winchester.

***

**SavetheDrake:** ok

Cas, sitting in his t-shirts and boxers directly in front of his fan throws back his head and laughs. He doesn’t even respond because he can see that typing is happening, so he waits patiently until, sure enough, Drake’s soup diatribe pours forth. 

**SavetheDrake:** first of all if you’re hungry then eat something that will fill you up. That’s the opposite of soup. Why have all those big pieces of things floating in liquid. It’s like eating old soggy cereal. Only hot. If you want chunks of something eat it with a fork and knife like a normal person. 

**Chrysler1930:** wow 

**Chrysler1930:** just w o w 

**SavetheDrake:** not exactly a stunning rebuttal

**Chrysler1930:** Soup is extremely filling, and it delivers a depth of flavors like nothing else. Every culture has some variation of it, you know why? Because it’s both delicious and satisfying. 

**SavetheDrake:** satisfying? somebody needs to get laid. 

Cas stops. There’s literally no good way to answer this. His mind travels through some possibilities: _Yeah, maybe I do_ or _No chance of that any time soon._ Possibly even _Mind your fucking business._

He knows this type of communication can make it tricky to infer intent, so he decides to give Drake the benefit of the doubt and keep things light. 

**Chrysler1930:** OR I could have some more soup.

**SavetheDrake:** Smart guy like you must have the girls lining up

Cas runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Maybe he assumed SavetheDrake knew he was gay when he jumped into the argument in the comments on the original article. Thinking back, he realizes he didn’t do anything other than take down a foul-mouthed homophobe. He sucks in a deep breath. 

***

Dean literally smacks himself in the forehead. Things have been going so well. They’ve gone from just chatting at night to checking in throughout the day and it’s been unexpectedly nice. But now he had to go and run his stupid mouth. If he thought maybe Chrysler would just roll with it, the extremely long pause is telling him that’s not the case. 

He’s debating what to do when Chrysler starts typing. 

**Chrysler1930:** Girls aren’t really my thing.

Dean types his response even as he says it aloud. 

**SavetheDrake:** oh

Then he hurries to add more. 

**SavetheDrake:** Didn’t mean to put you on the spot. That’s none of my business.

**Chrysler1930:** it’s fine

Dean raises his eyebrows. That’s something you say when it’s definitely not fine. He’s wondering what to say to that when Chrysler starts typing again. 

**Chrysler1930:** So someone mentioned the Drake closing to me today. 

Something inside of Dean sinks. They’ve been getting to know each other, teasing and having fun, and this return to their original topic of conversation hits like a bucket of cold water. It’s an unspoken but swift reminder for him not to push his luck. Fine. He’s the one who overstepped. 

**SavetheDrake:** oh yeah?

**Chrysler1930:** It was someone who I assumed wouldn’t care one way or the other about it, so i think there may be more interest surrounding it than we thought. 

**SavetheDrake:** I brought it up with someone today too and they’d heard about it, so I think maybe you’re right. 

There’s another long silence, long enough to have Dean wondering if he’s lost his conversation partner for the night. He feels like his misstep is right there, flashing at him in big, blinking lights. It’s one thing to make an offhand comment in person. Those are easy to...well, to ignore, honestly. But here, he barely has to move his finger to scroll back up to see his lame excuse for a joke. He spends some time doing just that, idly scrolling back and forth to make his message appear and disappear. Still, he gets no further messages from Chrysler. 

He throws his phone down onto the couch and gets up to pull a cold beer out of his refrigerator, lingering in front of the open door for a few moments. It’s still so goddamn hot and his t-shirt is sticking to his back. But he knows the temperature isn’t the only reason for his discomfort. 

Truth is, Dean asked precisely because he was wondering if Chrysler is seeing anyone. Instead of just asking outright, he tried to be clever and it completely backfired. Still, he shouldn’t care if the guy’s offended. He doesn’t know him, couldn’t pick him out of a crowd. Dean could delete his account right now and easily make this entire problem go away forever. He takes a long drink of the beer. It’s not even a problem. Jesus, why is he getting so melodramatic about the whole thing? 

People like Dean. He’s used to that. He knows his looks get him far. People buy him drinks, give him their numbers. They want to be close to him based solely on his attractiveness. This guy, though...this guy has no idea what he looks like and he still enjoys chatting with him. Dean feels like he’s almost tricked the guy up until now, leading him to believe he’s someone worth talking to. Someone on his same level, even. Of course, it was just a matter of time before Dean fucked that up. 

He presses the bottle to his forehead and lets the condensation drip along his temple. Maybe he should send a selfie by way of apology. He snorts derisively before saying out loud. “You fucking idiot. You just get dumber and dumber.” What the fuck was he supposed to say? “Cool.” 

Actually, that would’ve been a lot better than “Oh.”

So, he shouldn’t care, but he does. And he spends the rest of the evening stewing. 

Of the two of them, he generally seems to be up later. Any message he sends late in the evening tends to go unanswered until the morning. Given that, he waits until after midnight to type up his next message. 

_Hey sorry again. I hope I didn’t make things weird. I shoot my mouth off sometimes. I swear it runs a lot faster than my brain._

He reads over it. Wow. Could he make this more about himself? Backspacing, he tries again. 

_Hey sorry again. I really like talking to you so if I made things weird tonight, I’m truly sorry._

These are shitty apologies, the kind that go over better when Dean can look down in contrition then peek back up through lowered lashes. The words themselves feel lame and meaningless. 

He stops then adds, _I’m bi myself._

He looks at what he’s written. He’s never said that out loud to anyone. It’s one thing to acknowledge to himself that he’s into guys as well as girls, but officially labeling it feels like something else completely. Besides, he had his chance to share that earlier and now it feels like a self-centered afterthought. He thinks about how kindly Chrysler had responded when Dean dumped that story about his mom on him. The guy deserves better and Dean wishes he could find the right words here. 

Sighing, he backspaces again and calls it a night. 

***

Cas spends the rest of the evening feeling vaguely off-balanced. This is why he keeps to himself. He likes the people in his life, few as they may be. At work sometimes he gets invited to social events, bowling nights or potlucks or whatever. He’s said no, thank you enough times that he’s sure there are plenty of invites that never end up in his inbox and he’s okay with that. He doesn’t know what his co-workers think about him, and mostly he doesn’t care. It’s a job that keeps him challenged and pays his bills. Maybe he’s wrong to consider the other humans who do the work alongside him as afterthoughts, but they tax him in a way the lines of figures on a spreadsheet never do. It’s exhausting to have to pretend to care about whatever office gossip is going around or whatever inane television show they’re all watching. They don’t know he’s gay and there’s no reason they should. It’s easier to fly under their radar by not giving them enough information to make assumptions. 

Coming out can go a lot of different ways, but he’s never done it via text before. SavetheDrake’s response was...confusing. What the fuck does “oh” even mean? In person he’d know if it was accompanied by an encouraging nod, a blank-eyed stare, or a hint of a disgusted, curling lip. And not that he thinks SavetheDrake would, but hell, even a punch in the face would give him more to work with than _oh_. 

Cas lies awake in bed regretting how he’d quickly changed the subject to something more innocuous, like it was his job to make sure the person on the other end was comfortable. He could’ve pushed things a bit. _Is that a problem?_ God knows what response he would’ve gotten, but at least he wouldn’t be lying here wondering. SavetheDrake seemed to happily follow his lead, but their exchanges felt forced and flat after that and Cas had been the one to wander off. 

Maybe in the morning he’ll message with some sort of excuse. _I fell asleep on the couch_ or _sorry my internet crashed._

Maybe in the morning there'll be something from SavetheDrake that lets him know they’re either back to normal or done. 

“Whatever,” Cas mutters, kicking the covers off. What does it matter either way?

He sleeps fitfully, wakes with a dull headache, and tries to blame both on the persistent heat. He doesn’t let himself check his messages until he’s dragged himself out of bed and gotten showered and dressed, but whether the delay is a stay of execution or a reward, he’s not entirely sure. When he does finally check, there are no new messages. 

Feeling antsy, he decides to treat himself to breakfast at the coffee shop. Some sugar and caffeine will go a long way towards getting him through the day, not to mention the fact that the place is blissfully air conditioned. Altering his schedule takes away the chance of running into Dean as they both leave for work, but the bags under his eyes would probably be enough to scare him off anyhow. 

Charlie greets him cheerfully and doesn’t bat an eye at his request for an extra shot. She takes her time selecting his danish, smiling as she puts it in the bag for him. “I got you the biggest one.”

It’s probably a lie but Cas doesn’t care. He knows he’s sleep-deprived because that little bit of kindness seems to go right to his very core. “Thanks,” he says. “Gonna need every advantage I can get today.”

“Hang in there,” she tells him, handing him his coffee. “Have a good one.”

Cas turns toward the door and catches sight of a solitary figure sitting at the end of the long counter. Dean. Eyes cast downward, he seems to be brooding over his coffee. Cas lets his gaze linger because he has yet to discover an emotion he doesn’t wear well. Dean must sense him staring because he lifts his head. He looks tired and, while he smiles at Cas, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas takes a few steps closer. “Hello, Dean.” The lack of sleep has apparently messed with his filter because the next thing he says is, “You look about as good as I feel.”

Dean huffs out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, that bad, huh?”

“Who can sleep in this heat?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods in agreement. “Yeah, hey lemme ask you something.”

“Go for it.” Cas isn’t sure what he expects, maybe something about staying cool in the stuffy apartment building.

“You ever say something dumb to somebody?”

Cas blinks. “That’s your question?” He knows he’s only had a few sips of coffee but he’s wracking his brain trying to remember what he’s said to Dean recently that could be construed as dumb.

Dean shakes his head. “I mean, everyone does it. I’m just wondering like, how do you get out of it again?”

The coffee cup is hot so he sets it down on the counter. With the pastry bag still clutched in his other hand, he tries to figure out what Dean is getting at. “Do you mean you’re ‘in the doghouse’?” Hopefully, Dean doesn’t notice him wince. He’s been doing so well talking to Dean but today he seems right back where he started weeks ago. Everything he says seems a few beats too slow or awkwardly phrased and now he’s getting in his own head. 

A true smile crosses Dean’s face. “Did you just….” He makes air quotes of his own. 

Glaring, Cas makes a showy gesture of pointing to his full cup. “You’re the one who wanted relationship advice before I’ve had my coffee.”

“Okay, first of all, I never said it was relationship advice.” Before Cas can realize his mistake, Dean continues. “Secondly, are you always this grumpy in the mornings?”

Cas picks up his coffee, leaning close to Dean. “Ask your girlfriend.” 

There’s a long, charged moment and Dean’s eyes widen comically. “I--”

“I’m gay,” Cas blurts out. Jesus, he needs some sleep. “Your girlfriend is safe.”

Dean holds up his hand for a high-five. Without overthinking it, Cas obliges, trying not to be distracted by the feel of Dean’s callused palm on his. “Well-played,” Dean says, eyes crinkling with delight. “But I’m bi so watch out for your boyfriend.” He winks, and Cas feels a warmth flood through his chest, a giddiness that seems to trail all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

Gathering up his coffee, he laughs. “I’ve got to get to work. Good luck with...whatever.” He brings the coffee to his lips, surprised to see Dean’s eyes flick down to watch him take a drink before he meets Cas’s gaze again. 

“Thanks, man. You were zero help.” It’s the truth, but Dean’s smiling as he says it so Cas doesn’t even feel bad. “See ya later.” 

***

Dean laughs to himself as he pulls into work. He woke up in such a bad mood, but his interaction with Cas helped get him back on solid footing. Seeing Cas had been unexpected enough, but to have him be so funny was a surprise all on its own. He’d leaned in, his eyes so blue…on any other day maybe Dean could’ve kept his cool, but he was running on a sleep deficit and having Cas so close, well, it was more distracting than he’d anticipated. Compared to the way Dean had responded online last night, this morning felt smooth and easy. He’d high-fived the guy, for the love of God. _And_ come out himself. It hadn’t been difficult at all. In fact the words had slipped out effortlessly. 

He thinks again about the exchange with Chrysler. While he’s no closer to figuring out the actual words to say, he’s determined to apologize. In a way, he wants to thank Chrysler because all that time thinking and worrying is what got him to the point of opening up to Cas. He lets the situation percolate in the back of his mind all morning, a distant soundtrack to his work routine. When his lunch break rolls around, he checks his messages and, even though he’s still committed to apologizing, a part of him hopes maybe there will be new messages waiting, something that will take the conversation in another direction and let them move past all of this.

When he opens it, there’s nothing. 

He takes a big bite of his sandwich and chews as he types. 

**SavetheDrake:** Hope you’re having a good day. I want to apologize if I made things weird last night. I could’ve handled that better. 

He thinks that looks pretty good, but he’s reading over it to be sure when one of his co-workers enters the breakroom. In a hurry to put his phone away, Dean manages to hit send. “Shit,” he hisses. 

“The name’s Garth,” Garth jokes and Dean shoves his phone back in his pocket, telling himself he won’t look at it again until the end of the day. 

But he doesn’t make it that long, convincing himself that he needs a bathroom break about an hour later. He feels ridiculous even as he locks himself in the stall, the presence of his phone practically burning a hole in his pocket. He’s like a nervous school girl waiting for a boy to pass back a note with a box checked. 

The message came minutes after he’d sent his. 

**Chrysler1930:** It’s fine. I know not everyone is comfortable discussing these issues.

Great. If Dean had managed to use his phone like a normal person, he could’ve kept it out during his lunch and responded in a timely way. Now that response has been sitting there for over an hour. He puts his phone away again. No point in responding now, when he’s already feeling rushed and off-kilter. Besides, Chrysler said it was fine, and he’ll choose to believe that.

***

Flying high after his conversation with Dean in the coffee shop, Cas almost forgets about where he’s left things online. By changing the subject, he realizes he’s given Drake implicit permission to move on, so when he gets the apology at what he now knows is his lunchtime, it comes as a pleasant surprise. 

With that resolved, he focuses again on how Dean had been so open at the coffee shop, leaving Cas wondering whether he’d been open about his sexuality in general or if it was something more. Like a message to Cas in particular. 

He needs a second opinion. 

That’s why Meg greets him after work, happily throwing open the door of her apartment, and looking between him and the bag of burritos he’s brought with an equally pleased expression. She hugs him, then snatches the bag from his hand and clutches it to her chest. “My sweet babies. Come to mama.”

“One of those is mine,” Cas reminds her.

She holds the bag to her ear. “No, I didn’t hear a thing. Must’ve been the wind.”

Inside, Cas drops his work bag and pulls off his suit jacket and tie, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. 

“You could’ve gone home to change first.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “And delay this meaningful reunion? I didn’t dare.”

Grinning, she gets a couple of cold beers from the fridge, then stops. “Wait. You don’t want like, a plate and shit, right?” 

Cas does his best to look scandalized. “How dare you try to treat me like company.”

“I would never.”

“Thank God.”

They settle at her table and unwrap the food. Meg takes a big bite, sighing blissfully as she chews. Once she gets that out of the way, she regards him with a keen look. “Okay, so what’s the deal? You know I love you but I can probably count on two hands the number of times you’ve initiated us getting together in all the years I’ve known you.”

Cas delays responding for a moment under the guise of taking a drink. She’s not wrong, but the truth of it leaves him with a ripple of guilt. Still, he won’t give her the satisfaction of immediately opening up. “Maybe I just wanted to take advantage of your air conditioning.”

“Your place is hot as an oven,” she agrees, and Cas thinks maybe he’s won this round. He should know better, though, because after a strategic pause she adds, “Probably even hotter with Dean prancing around half-dressed upstairs.”

It takes all of Cas’s effort to not cough his mouthful of beer everywhere. 

Meg narrows her eyes at him. “I knew it. Tell me everything.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not all about Dean.” He flicks at a bean that’s fallen out of his burrito. “I mean, mostly it is. But also, I’ve come out to two people in two days.”

She leans back in her chair a bit. “That’s big.”

“They’re kind of related. I told you about this guy I’ve been talking to online? About the Drake?” She nods. “He made an offhand comment about how I must have girls throwing themselves at me and I told him girls weren’t really my thing, and you know what he said?”

“What?”

“Oh.”

Grimacing in a way that makes Cas feel fully supported, she says, “Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

They eat for another moment in silence. “So what does this have to do with Dean?”

Cas takes a deep breath and tries to organize his thoughts before relating the conversation at the coffee shop. 

Meg gasps and literally covers her mouth with her hand when Cas gets to the _ask your girlfriend_ part. “Holy shit, Cas, that’s hilarious.”

“I honestly don’t know why I said it. I didn’t sleep well after getting that _Oh_ and it just sort of slipped out.”

“Sleep deprived Cas is my favorite Cas. You remember that night during finals week junior year?”

Cas holds up a hand, but he’s smiling. “Do not.”

She takes a smug bite and gestures at him to continue. 

“So, I quickly added that I was gay and that his girlfriend was safe.”

“How’d that feel?”

Cas considers. “Fine, pretty natural, I guess. Like a chance for a do-over from the night before in some ways.”

“How did Dean respond? You’re in too good of a mood to have gotten an ‘oh’ out of him as well.”

“He said,” Cas starts, remembering the amused glint in Dean’s green eyes. “He told me he was bi so I better watch out for my boyfriend.”

“He did not.” Meg slumps against the back of her chair. “He absolutely did no such thing.”

Cas has to hide his grin with another big bite and merely nods. 

“Castiel Novak. You sly fucking dog. He was _flirting_ with you.”

“Okay, but have you considered this?”

“What?”

“Maybe he wasn’t.”

She leans forward again, elbows on the table. “Tell me how he said it.”

Cas pulls the memory back into his mind, which isn’t hard to do as it’s been simmering just beneath the surface all day. “Uh, did I leave out the part where he winked at me after he said it?”

“Dude,” she says, impressed. “ _Dude_. This is huge.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just a friendly guy.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Cas raises his eyebrows. “Ask him out.”

“That’s not happening,” he assures her. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’re barely even friends and if I’m reading this wrong then it’s a lifetime of awkward interactions in our building.”

“And that would be different from before you started talking to him how?”

God, Cas hates when she’s right. And she’s always right. “Maybe I’ll just see how things seem the next time I run into him.”

“I know you, Cas, and you wouldn’t be here, asking me to have dinner with you instead of hiding out in your own apartment if you didn’t think there was something to it.” She wrinkles up her nose in consideration. “You know what’s interesting…”

Those words paired with the far away look in her eyes never bode well for Cas. “What?”

“The Drake guy...it almost sounded like he was flirting with you, too.”

“No way,” Cas says. 

“I mean, in what context does it come up that you must have women throwing themselves at you unless it’s something complimentary?”

Cas stops. That’s the thing, their conversation had been flowing so easily, fun, and playful. It had been about soup for God’s sake. “He’s never even seen a picture of me.”

“So?”

“So, even if he was, that _oh_ really sealed the deal.”

“Well, how did he say it?”

Cas pulls out his phone and scrolls back. “He literally typed the letter o followed by the letter h.”

She takes it from his hand and reads for a moment. “He’s talking about you getting laid. And calling you smart! Maybe he meant it like this.” She leans forward, her chin cupped in one hand and makes deep eye contact with Cas. “Oh,” she says softly. “Or like this.” Leaning back, she lifts one shoulder and tips her head coquettishly. “Oh,” she drawls, in pleased surprise. 

He takes back his phone. “Or maybe like this.” He lifts both hands and leans back. The _oh_ sound he makes sounds a lot more like an ew. “Probably meant to type ew.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “That’s not how typing works. But look, even if this Drake guy turned out to be a jerk, I’m glad you put yourself out there.”

“He’s not,” Cas mumbles around another bite. When he finishes chewing, he adds, “He apologized today.”

“And?”

Sometimes Cas wishes he were the type who could’ve left him to sweat it out all afternoon, trying to hold on to some moral high ground as he waited to dispense forgiveness. But that isn’t him. It gives him no pleasure to think Drake had been stressing over their conversation since last night. Okay, that’s a lie. It gives him a very small amount of pleasure to know that it had been registered as a misstep. Still, Cas is more than happy to move past it now. “I told him we were cool. Hell, thanks to him I opened up to Dean but there was no good way to try and explain _that_.”

“I can’t wait to watch these two fight over you.”

Cas rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe there’ll be an actual _duel_. With swords and everything.”

Cas crunches a tortilla chip dismissively. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

“You’re right,” she says immediately, so agreeable that Cas knows better than to trust it. “Nobody needs to choose.” She shrugs, doing her best approximation of the little girl in the taco commercial gif. “Why not both?”

“You’re telling me I’ve gone from zero prospects to two people interested in me.”

“Don’t act so surprised, Cas. I’ve been telling you for ages what a catch you are.” She smiles sweetly. “All you needed was to put yourself out there. And don’t”--she gestures at Cas with what’s left of her burrito to make her point--“sabotage this just to prove me wrong.”

“I would never.” He totally would and they both know it. 

“God, I love being right.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is all purely theoretical at this point. For all we know Drake is still homophobic and Dean flirts with everyone.” He’s never referred to him as Drake before, but he’s also never spoken about him out loud to another human being. He realizes his mistake right away, but Meg is a step quicker.

“Cas.”

“Don’t say it.”

“Cas, what if it’s actually _Drake_.”

“Meg.”

Her eyes light up. “Maybe he’ll write a song about you. What rhymes with Cas...oh, your ass!” 

“I am begging you to stop.”

“Imagine you and Drake and Dean Winchester all sitting courtside in matching Raptors jerseys.”

Cas can’t help it. He conjures up the mental image (as best he can considering he has no idea what the Raptors logo looks like) and begins to laugh.

Meg smiles at him. “Anyhow, I thought you told me you started talking to Drake when you jumped in to help him argue with that homophobic asshole.”

“Oh,” Cas says, because he did sort of forget about that. “Well, maybe he’s fine with gayness in general but not individual gay people.” 

“I don’t think that’s a thing.” 

“Like hate the sin, love the sinner.”

“That’s literally the exact opposite of your point.”

“Okay, well I’m just saying...” he trails off. It’s easier not to get his hopes up. Can’t he just enjoy the interactions he’s had without worrying about more?

Meg, as always, knows just what he’s thinking. “Look, whatever comes of any of this...you’ve done great and I’m proud of you. I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

And that’s the thing. Cas _has_ been happier lately. He likes having someone new to chat with throughout the day and he hasn’t had to slink away red-faced from an interaction with Dean in weeks. “Thanks, Meg.”

“Besides, if you find true love, who’s going to bring me burritos?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chrysler1930:** It’s fine. I know not everyone is comfortable discussing these issues.

Dean stares at the message again, like maybe this time he’ll understand if Chrysler is mad or not. It turns out Dean’s not used to having to work so hard at, well, _relationships_ doesn’t quite seem like the right word, but it’s the closest he can get. It’s an uncomfortable truth, the fact that he’s used to saying whatever he wants and things still tend to go his way. He doesn’t want to be that guy, the one who thinks he can get by based on his good looks, but it’s something he’s got going for him. He thinks about Sam’s friends who no doubt think he’s dumb because he never went to college, but when those nerds stand around in a clump too scared even to make eye contact with a woman, Dean’s more than happy to show off his very own area of expertise.

He thinks about Cas. The guy is hot, but he walks around like he doesn’t even know it. Like it’s secondary to who he is. He seems to go through life like a person who is used to being dealt with based on his brain.

Dean switches on his front facing camera. It’s not like he doesn’t have flaws. His nose is a little crooked and those freckles plague him, but yeah, good or bad, people make assumptions about him based solely on his appearance. Maybe that’s why he feels so anxious about getting this right with Chrysler. To prove that there’s more to him than what meets the eye.

But the longer he goes without responding, the more he worries he’s making it weird. _Again_. Taking a deep breath, he makes a decision and reopens their conversation. He’ll just act like things are fine and see how it goes from there.

 **SavetheDrake:** so how was the rest of your day?

The response comes almost immediately.

 **Chrysler1930:** Work was boring but I had dinner with my best friend so that was good.

 **SavetheDrake:** nice! What did you have?

 **Chrysler1930:** Burritos from Mad Mex.

 **SavetheDrake:** oh shit those are amazing

 **Chrysler1930:** You’ve had them?

 **SavetheDrake:** it’s been awhile but yeah.

 **SavetheDrake:** i stopped because my brother is unbearable to live with when he’s had mexican food

 **Chrysler1930:** LOL

 **SavetheDrake:** Truly toxic. But now that you’ve reminded me about them I might get one soon.

 **Chrysler1930:** What about your brother?

 **SavetheDrake:** I don’t live with him anymore. He’s getting ready to start law school.

 **Chrysler1930:** That’s impressive.

 **SavetheDrake:** yeah

It’s nice, Dean thinks, to talk to someone who doesn’t look at him in his grease-stained coverall and watch as they do the math in their head, wondering what went so wrong that he’s doing what he does while his brother continues to advance. And what’s more, this guy never needs to know. Strangely, though, Dean finds himself wanting to tell him the truth.

 **SavetheDrake:** I never went to college so I’m really proud of him.

There’s a long pause and Dean begins to think he may be gearing up for his very own “oh” moment. What comes instead is something he’s not sure anyone has ever asked him before.

 **Chrysler1930:** Did you want to?

Dean types, backspaces, types some more.

 **SavetheDrake:** Not really. I mean, it just never seemed like it was ever in the cards for me so it’s not like I felt like I was missing out. I don’t know if that makes sense.

 **Chrysler1930:** It does.

 **Chrysler1930:** I went but I’d do it differently if I could do it all over again.

 **SavetheDrake:** you wouldn’t go to college?

 **Chrysler1930:** I would but I wouldn’t have let my parents have so much influence on what I studied.

 **SavetheDrake:** you mean you didn’t spend your childhood dreaming about expense accounts or whatever?

 **Chrysler1930:** LOL hardly

Dean smiles. For some reason, he finds it hilarious that Chrysler types LOL so much. He wonders if the guy is merely cracking a smile or if he’s actually tossing his head back and full on laughing.

 **SavetheDrake:** what did you want to study?

 **Chrysler1930:** I don’t know. Something with plants, maybe.

 **SavetheDrake:** I take it you don’t mean factories.

 **Chrysler1930:** LOL no, like botany or something.

 **Chrysler1930:** what about you? If you’d been able to go, what would you have studied?

It surprises Dean that he doesn’t have to think about this.

 **SavetheDrake:** engineering.

 **Chrysler1930:** I take it you don’t mean driving a train.

Dean barks out a laugh. Goddammit, now he’s got to write it.

 **SavetheDrake:** LOL (I really did)

 **SavetheDrake:** But no, mechanical engineering.

 **Chrysler1930:** That’s cool. Think you’ll ever do it?

 **SavetheDrake:** Doubt it. Think you’ll ever be a farmer?

 **Chrysler1930:** I never said farmer!

 **SavetheDrake:** you never said not farmer either

 **Chrysler1930:** Is that how you break things down? Farmer and Not Farmer?

 **SavetheDrake:** you can’t deny that it’s ultimately a factual distinction. Maybe not practical, but the truth of it exists. Either you’re a farmer or you’re not.

 **Chrysler1930:** I’m starting to understand why your brother decided to become a lawyer.

It’s not true, but Dean feels a flush of pride at the possibility.

 **SavetheDrake:** Kid could argue with a wall, I swear. If anything I learned from him.

Chrysler doesn’t answer right away and Dean can’t resist adding:

 **SavetheDrake:** did my superior logic render you speechless?

 **Chrysler1930:** Hardly. I was just checking to see if the domain name for NotFarmersOnly.com was available.

 **SavetheDrake:** omg is it?

 **Chrysler1930:** there’s a site that will redirect you to a random dating site that isn’t Farmers Only

 **SavetheDrake:** you’re fucking kidding me

 **Chrysler1930:** I could not make this up. Check it yourself.

Dean does and he’s delighted to see it for himself.

 **SavetheDrake:** that’s hilarious

 **Chrysler1930:** it really is.

 **SavetheDrake:** You ever use one of those?

 **SavetheDrake:** an online dating site I mean?

 **Chrysler1930:** No, but I’m surprised my mother hasn’t made an account for me.

Flexing his fingers for a minute, Dean considers the best way to ask.

 **SavetheDrake:** She know you’re not exactly looking for a bride?

 **Chrysler1930:** She does. And she was surprisingly cool about it. Both my parents were, actually.

Dean lets out a breath. He didn’t realize he’d sort of tensed up, waiting to hear that Chrysler’s parents didn’t know the truth, that he was afraid to tell them.

 **SavetheDrake:** that’s awesome. I like to think my mom would’ve been pretty open-minded. My dad, though? No fucking way.

 **Chrysler1930:** that sucks

 **SavetheDrake:** yeah well he’s a pretty poor excuse for a dad in general

When there’s no quick response, Dean sends another message.

 **SavetheDrake:** sorry didn’t mean to drag things down

 **Chrysler1930:** Not at all. I thought you might want to say more is all.

What is there to say? _Dad pretty much checked out when Mom died. Left me to raise Sammy best I could. For years and years, the only thing worse than John Winchester being gone was John Winchester being home._ Dean’s not about to dump all that on Chrysler.

 **SavetheDrake:** nah it’s fine. I rarely see him any more so that works out.

 **SavetheDrake:** all right i have an early morning tomorrow so I’m gonna hit the hay.

 **Chrysler1930:** What a barely veiled metaphor for signing up for farmersonly.com

For the second time this evening, Dean laughs out loud.

 **SavetheDrake:** damn you’re on to me. I’ll see you there.

He adds the winking emoji before closing out the chat.

***

Dean’s been sitting in the coffee shop nursing his drink and waiting for Charlie to go on break. When she finally makes her way to his table, it’s with two muffins on a plate. “Day old.”

“You think I’m gonna look free pastries in the mouth?”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Instead of answering, Dean chews exaggeratedly at her.

“You’re disgusting,” she says pleasantly. “Now, what’s so important that you had to make an appointment with me?”

“I need an expert.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. What’s the topic?”

Dean buys himself a moment with a drink of cold coffee. “Meeting people online.”

“You just like...swipe? On their picture or whatever? Why are you asking me how to work a dating site?”

“I don’t mean like that.” He can feel a tiny smile play around his mouth because now he’s thinking about Not Farmers Only again.

Charlie leans forward. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

She gestures at his face. “Like that.”

Dean gives her his best blue steel. “Do I look like I need a dating site?”

Charlie shrugs. “I sure as fuck don’t see you with a date, so…”

“Can we start this again?”

“Please. The clock is ticking and I’ve got to talk to Gilda about dinner before my break ends.”

“That’s what I mean. You met Gilda online.”

“Yes.”

“In your LARP thingy.”

“It’s a Discord server, but close enough.”

“Okay, so how did you decide when it was time to meet in person?”

“Dean,” she says softly.

Dean already doesn’t like the look in her eyes. “What?”

“You’ve met someone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she nearly squeals. “The fact that you’re even asking...and that thing with your face. It all makes sense. Who is it?”

Dean glances around then leans in and gestures for her to do the same. “Well, that’s the problem, right? I don’t _know_ who it is.”

“Hang on.” She takes out her phone and dashes off a quick text. “Okay, dinner handled. Now, tell me everything.”

He fills her in as best he can. The jackass in the comments section, the way he initiated the conversation, how they’ve gone from talking only about the theater to chatting all day every day. He’s gotten through that much of the story when he stops. “Wait. You get it’s a guy, right?”

“Yes, Dean,” she says with exaggerated patience. “Do you?”

He starts to cross his arms over his chest in outrage, then stops when he realizes she’d never once assumed it was a woman. “Why aren’t you making a bigger deal out of this?”

She looks honestly offended. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know. We’ve just never really discussed this before.”

“First off, do you think I--of all people--would somehow judge you on that? And yeah, you’ve never told me you’re into guys, but you didn’t really have to. I’ve seen the way you look at them sometimes.”

Now Dean does fold his arms in front of him. “Who is ‘them’?”

“Well,” she says, looking thoughtful. “That guy Aaron who used to come in here a bunch. You used to light up like a Christmas tree when you saw him.” She bites her lip for a moment. “It’s the same thing you do when you see Cas.”

Dean crams another piece of muffin in his mouth. “Okay, well that’s not what we’re talking about.” He sprays crumbs as he speaks. “Mostly.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Dean. Did you want me to act more surprised?” She brings both hands to her face and gasps in mock disbelief. “You’re telling me you like--”

“Okay, fine. I get it.” He doesn’t, not really. He never dreamed he’s been so obvious, but the last thing he needs is Charlie loudly broadcasting it to the entire coffee shop. “Can we get back to my original problem?”

“Sorry, of course. Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You met a guy online, you’ve been talking a bunch, and now you want to take it to the next level.”

“Yes,” Dean nods. “Wait, no. I don’t know. I’m just curious how you know when it’s the right time.”

“It’s always different,” she says, which isn’t helpful at all. “Some people want to meet, some never do. Some you get along with great in person, some it feels super awkward and you’ll always do better online. But trying is the only way to find out.”

“But isn’t it weird to like, walk into a place and not know who you know?”

“Extremely.”

“That’s terrible and I hate it.”

“That first moment can be super nerve wracking. Have you two exchanged pictures or anything?”

Dean shakes his head. “We don’t even use our real names and now it feels like it’s too late to ask.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with being cautious. Especially if you’re both local. Sometimes it’s a lot easier when it’s someone you know is on the other side of the world.”

“I’m probably being catfished anyhow,” Dean mutters.

Charlie immediately goes serious. “Is there anything he’s said to have you concerned? Do you feel like he’s trying to impress you with his fancy lifestyle? Or has he asked you for money? Anything like that?”

Dean thinks for a moment. “No requests for money. He, uh, he likes soup.”

Charlie remains as straight-faced as she can before bursting into laughter. “Jesus, Winchester. Listen to yourself.”

Dean slumps, forearms on the table. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because you’ve made a friend and you don’t want to mess that up. Whether it can turn into something more, who can say? But the fact that you want to preserve what you have right now tells me it’s both special and important to you. And that part is great.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Is it though?”

“It is.” Her eyes flash with something that has Dean a tiny bit frightened. “I have an idea.”

***

Cas takes the flyer out of his pocket, smoothing out the fold marks with the flat of his hand. There’d been one taped to the glass door of the coffee shop, not to mention three pinned to the community bulletin board inside and a stack on the counter by the register. It makes sense. The Drake is only a block away from the coffee shop, its marquee visible from the doorway.

He reads it again, even though he’s got the date, time, and location all committed to memory. _Rally with the community to protest the closing and sale of this historic theater._ It’s scheduled for just under two weeks from now, on a Saturday morning.

Charlie had handed him one with his order. “We need the whole neighborhood to pull together,” she’d said. “Can you be there?”

“Uh,” he’d said, a little blindsided. “I’ll try.” It makes no sense that he’s hedging. He’s literally been talking about this topic for weeks. But something about seeing the big letters at the top of the notice have him taken aback. There, in bold type, it reads: _Save the Drake!_

It would be the easiest thing in the world to mention it. “Hey, they’re having a rally for the Drake,” he imagines himself typing. “Wanna go?”

But then what? It could go so many different ways. No matter how it plays out, even broaching the idea of meeting in person is going to change things. If SavetheDrake has an excuse, no matter how plausible, Cas will assume he just doesn’t want to meet. Worse, what if he says yes then doesn’t show? There’s no coming back from that. Cas is five minutes into playing out these scenarios when he realizes he’s never even considered an option in which they do actually meet in person. Cas imagines himself standing there, brain spinning, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as he prays for the familiar comfort of a keyboard and screen. No doubt Drake will quickly and conclusively realize what a mistake he’s made. He’ll make an excuse to leave and that will be the last Cas ever hears from him because it’ll be impossible to return to the easy banter and effortless back and forth after that.

This is Meg’s fault, Cas decides, and yes, that feels right. He lets the righteous indignation flow through him. His life was fine before she started interfering. Now it’s gotten messy and complicated in ways he didn’t ask for and never wanted. Okay, sure, he’s gotten better at talking to Dean as a result, but who’s to say that wouldn't have happened anyhow? He pushes down the fact that it hadn’t improved at all in the amount of time he’s known Dean before this. That’s not the point. He’s on his feet now, pacing around his apartment. The point is Meg pushed him into this and now he’s suffering the consequences of her meddling.

Meddling. He likes that. He spends some time working on a speech to give to Meg, one that will put her in her place. A heartfelt speech that will finally have her understanding how unfair she’s been in trying to change him. Honestly, does she want to get him killed? Meeting someone off the internet? He can already picture the headlines.

Now his fantasy switches from telling off Meg to saving himself from a bloodthirsty serial killer. Sure, the rally is outside in a public space but what if Drake suggests getting a drink afterwards? Or offers him a piece of gum spiked with...well, something bad. His imagination goes full on Scooby-Doo as he imagines Drake secured in handcuffs giving his villain’s speech. “And I would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”

Wait. Now Cas is the one meddling. He’s lost the plot somewhere. _Anyhow_ , the point is that it’s not safe. Meeting up with someone he doesn’t know? Okay, fine, he has met people he’s connected with on the internet before, but this? This feels different. More dangerous. Maybe because it’s local. The only thing more terrifying than meeting a stranger would be finding out it’s someone he _does_ know. What if it ends up being a co-worker? How awkward would that be? Or the kid who used to bully him in fifth grade. Maybe this is all part of an elaborate plan to find him and continue that reign of terror.

Maybe it’s Dean, another part of his brain supplies.

 _As if._ He nearly snorts. Dean Winchester doesn’t need to meet people online. He always seems comfortable in his own skin. In fact, Cas has rarely even seen him sitting with his phone in his hand, which is Cas’s default position. He always seems completely present in whatever moment he’s in. It’s one of the things Cas likes about him. He imagines introducing himself as Chrysler to Dean. It takes no effort at all to picture the look of confusion in his green eyes and the way he’d quickly make an excuse to leave.

Sighing, Cas flops back down on his couch. He likes things the way they are with Drake. If anything were to go wrong, he could still disappear. No harm, no foul, right? He folds the flyer back up again. No need to mention it.

With that decided, he opens up his phone to find a new message.

 **SavetheDrake:** hey did you see they’re having a rally to save the Drake? Wanna go?

***

Dean has to admit it’s a great idea. In fact, the more Charlie explained, the better it sounded. Sure, just asking the guy out for coffee or a drink is definitely an option, but this? This flows naturally from the reason they started talking in the first place. Plus, Dean does actually feel strongly about saving the Drake. It’s not like there’s anything left of his mom there, but he has so few strong memories of her and it pains him to think he could never stand in that same spot again. These days he’d have to bend way over to drink from the fountain, but still. Knowing they’d been there together keeps tugging at him. Maybe one day he’ll have a kid of his own...or Sam will, anyhow...and he could take them there and lift them up to drink from that very same fountain.

All of these thoughts are swimming around in his head when he agrees to Charlie’s plan. With the excitement thrumming lightly under his skin, he decides to wait a few days before mentioning it to Chrysler, waiting until the date and time have been solidified and the actual flyers made up. That way the whole thing feels more organic. Like Dean has just caught sight of this info as opposed to, say, planning an entire community event to facilitate a personal meet up.

Yeah, that definitely makes it sound creepy, he thinks as he gets ready to send the message.

The delay has also provided time for him to discuss possible outcomes with Charlie. Dean takes a moment to cycle through them in his head. One, Chrysler agrees to meet and they hit it off. Whether it’s a matter of friendship or romance, it’s a starting point for them to figure that out. Dean feels pretty good about this one, feels like if he can move things to in-person interactions, he can be more on his game. Two, Chrysler agrees and it’s...fine. They meet in person and maybe don’t click. Maybe they go back to chatting online, maybe they don’t. This option leaves Dean a bit uneasy, because he hates the thought of losing what they have now, but the curiosity is becoming nearly all-consuming. Option three, Chrysler doesn’t accept the invitation. That’ll leave Dean wondering if it’s a valid excuse or just a lie to get out of meeting him. If that happens, Dean’s determined to try again, maybe this time for coffee or a drink, and see what happens.

It’s hard not to think it in a way that comes off as cocky or overconfident, but Dean knows he’s good with people. He’s been called charming by more than one recipient of his attention and he knows how to play the game, so to speak. The fact that he’s been pulling his weight in just an online conversation has him even more convinced of his ability to win Chrysler over.

Charlie posed another question, though, one Dean hadn’t even considered.

“You’re so focused on whether he’ll like you in person,” she said. “What if you don’t like him?”

“What do you mean?” Dean was genuinely puzzled.

She drew in a long, patient breath. “What do you picture when you think of him?”

That stopped Dean dead in his tracks. “Just...just a regular guy, I guess.” Deep down, though, he knew that wasn’t true. Somehow, somewhere in his brain, the idea of Chrysler as merely an online entity had morphed into a vague image of a guy. And then a guy with dark hair. Without even meaning to, he now pictured Chrysler not as Cas, exactly, but as someone like Cas. Someone smart, successful, and funny.

“I’m sure he’ll adore you,” Charlie said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, is all.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not worried about that.”

But his stomach flips a little unpleasantly at the memory. He’s the one who lied about his job, making it sound like he worked in an office and not directly under the hood of the trucks. He catches sight of his work-worn hands and curls them into fists. A professional guy like Chrysler might not want to have anything to do with him. Maybe he’s fine as someone to talk to anonymously, but to date? Hell, this guy seems to have a house and a real career. Dating Dean would be a substantial downgrade.

Maybe that’s why he’s created the Cas-like placeholder in his brain. Whenever he starts to worry about not being good enough, he can take comfort in the fact that Cas knows all about him and doesn't seem to mind. Like Chrysler, Cas is smart and successful and--especially now that Dean has gotten him to open up a bit--he seems to genuinely enjoy Dean’s company.

He takes a deep breath, the message still unsent. Maybe if things don’t work out, he can try to fix this guy up with Cas…

“You got this,” he mutters to himself before reading the message one more time and hitting send.

Dean waits, anticipation growing, but there’s no immediate response. That’s not unusual. Chrysler is usually around in the evenings, but maybe tonight he’s out somewhere, having dinner with friends or whatever. But, like has happened every night for the past several weeks, he’ll respond when he gets the chance. Dean busies himself tidying up his apartment, doing the cleaning he kept putting off when it was so hot. Now that the heat has finally broken any number of chores have piled up and he tackles them, whistling as he works. Still, he keeps his phone close, checking it frequently until he’s starting to make himself a little nuts. At that point he sets a series of timers, making himself clean for fifteen minutes before checking again.

Hours tick by with no response. The evening progresses until his apartment gleams but still that message stares back at him, glaringly obvious in its unanswered state. Maybe Dean should send some more messages, change the subject, act like he was just kidding. He could flood the screen with messages until there are so many that Chrysler might not even notice the invitation as he skims through them all. Dean finds himself pacing the lengths of his apartment. Why the fuck didn’t he just mention the rally first? Give them a chance to discuss it a bit before tossing the invitation out there so carelessly? Maybe Chrysler had plans to be out of town. Maybe he’d have said he wasn’t sure and Dean could’ve slowed things down. This kind of impulsivity always gets him into trouble. In fact, making this account in the first place is a perfect example of that. His life was perfectly fine before he jumped into the comments section of that news article. Has anything good ever come of getting involved in an online discussion? Maybe earlier today he might have argued against that, but now? Now, he knows he’s made a series of mistakes.

To avoid further temptation, he powers down his phone and calls it a night.


	7. Chapter 7

Fuck. _Fuck._ Cas freezes at the sight of the message. How did he not see this coming, especially when one of the very first things SavetheDrake ever said was that he lived in the same neighborhood as the theater? Of course he saw the flyers for the rally, they’re everywhere. He stares at the message, reading the simple words over and over like there’s a hidden code he needs to decipher. The more he looks at it, the more he’s struck by the way it seems to have been sent so casually, devoid of all the angst Cas has put himself through. And that’s part of what gets him. It _does_ feel casual, like maybe whether or not he says yes makes zero difference to Drake. How can he say yes or no without knowing what’s behind the offer? Is this about the theater? Or something more? Cas starts spinning possibilities in his brain until so much time has passed that he’s definitely left the question hanging for an awkwardly long amount of time.

With each hour that passes, he feels the weight of his non-response dragging him down, steady as an anchor. All that worry and now he’s the one ruining everything. He wishes that he’d responded right away, maybe pretending he didn’t know about the rally, maybe acting like he wasn’t sure if he was free that day, anything to have kept the conversation going so he could feel things out a bit.

It doesn’t help that apparently Dean has decided the middle of summer is the perfect time to engage in some goddamn spring cleaning. How can Cas concentrate when there’s nothing but a series of loud noises coming from upstairs. Is he actually vacuuming up there? If he didn’t know better, he’d think Dean was just stomping all around to piss him off.

It’s too much. Cas is paralyzed, unable even to pretend he’d been out for the evening and he’s only now seeing the message. He’ll try again in the morning, he decides, and immediately feels slightly better for giving himself this breathing room. He’ll sleep on it and surely it’ll all come together tomorrow.

Instead, he tosses and turns. Cas is a grown man. He has a good career. He’s responsible, accomplished, and smart. Why is he utterly overwhelmed by typing yes or no to a person he doesn’t even know?

Eventually he does fall asleep and, when his alarm goes off, it takes a few minutes for the memory of last night to hit him like a gut punch. He pulls the pillow over his face, realizing he’s no closer to a solution this morning than he was last night. Still, he braves a look at his messages to see if anything has changed overnight. Maybe Drake has registered Cas’s nonresponse for what it is and moved on to a new topic.

Nope. The question sits there, conspicuously unanswered.

Cas can’t remember the last time they’ve gone this many hours without communicating, and he has no doubt that Drake is acutely aware of that as well. Guiltily, he closes out of the message. He can hardly make things worse at this point so he pushes it to the back of his mind and gets ready for work.

The day passes agonizingly slowly and, despite his vow not to think about it, he’s distracted at work, making stupid mistakes. The frustration over the mistakes causes him to make more mistakes, a cycle that leaves him with a raging headache before the work day is even through.

On the bus ride home, he regards his phone like it’s a poisonous snake, careful not to look for any new messages. It’s not Drake’s job to make this easy on him. Cas is committed to figuring out what he wants to do before checking again. He could reach out to Meg. She’d listen to him, help him sort through the pros and cons, push him until he identifies what he truly wants. No matter how quick he was to blame her last night, he knows she’s his best friend and she has his best interests at heart. Still, something stops him from texting her. Knowing she’d drop everything to be there for him somehow makes him feel worse. More needy, more of a burden. He thinks of her mentioning how rare it was for him to initiate getting together last week. She said it in a teasing way, but there’s no denying the underlying truth of the observation. It feels like she asks for so little from their friendship, to the point that sometimes he’s not even sure what she gets out of it. Especially when he seems to stay stuck in his closed-off little life no matter what.

To prove that he can shake things up a bit, he ditches his plan to cook and stops to grab some takeout on the way home. By the time he gets home with his food, his headache has ebbed to a dull throbbing. He’ll eat and take some time to figure out how to proceed. Not long after he starts his dinner, though, he hears the unmistakable sound of Dean coming home. Within minutes, there’s music blasting, louder than he’s heard in recent memory. He sighs, and rubs his temple.

Irritated, he considers grabbing his broom and banging on the ceiling. But aside from wondering if he could do it hard enough to be heard without damaging the paint, he knows it’s a shitty, cowardly way out. Maybe if he had Dean’s number he could text him and ask him nicely to turn it down. Or simply take a video of his light fixture vibrating to the beat of the music and send it to him. That’s still petty, though, and not the good kind that makes Cas feel better. There’s a lot of clomping going around as well, although after last night, Cas can’t imagine there’s anything left to clean. Whatever’s going on with Dean, it’s pretty unusual, but Cas has his own issue to deal with.

Besides, it’s still early. Not unreasonable for someone to be playing music. If it goes on too late, Cas decides with a determined nod, he’ll go up there, knock on the door, and deal with it like the adult he is. His conviction sours a little as he remembers the way he’s blatantly _not_ being an adult in other areas, and he tries to refocus on that.

He’s still picking at his dinner when he hears a loud, crashing sound from upstairs. While the rock music continues to blare, the pacing stops and Cas stops as well, his head tipped as he listens. A few minutes pass with no other sound and he’s concerned enough that he stands up, puts on his shoes, and heads upstairs.

Outside Dean’s door, he stops again, listening for...he’s not even sure, exactly. Finally he gathers his courage and knocks firmly on the door. A moment later the door is yanked open to reveal Dean scowling.

“What?” he says gruffly, then his expression changes. “Oh. Sorry, man. Is my music too loud?”

“I—uh—“ Cas begins, but Dean waves him inside.

“Hang on, lemme shut it off.”

And so Cas finds himself in Dean’s apartment for the very first time. It’s comfortable but not fancy, he thinks. His furniture and technology are both a little older but everything seems sturdy and built to last. As he steps further into the living room, though, he sees the wooden coffee table has been upended, a beer bottle shattered on the floor. Cas takes it in while Dean shuts off the music, and a heavy silence fills the air.

Cas lifts his gaze from the floor. “Is everything okay? I heard the crash.”

Dean looks tired and he drags a hand over his face. “Just, uh, having a bad day.”

“You don’t say,” Cas says, raising an eyebrow.

Sheepishly, Dean rights the table. Cas takes a few steps closer and begins to pick up pieces of the bottle. “You don’t have to do that,” Dean insists.

“It’s fine,” Cas says, even as he jerks his hand back, a sliver of glass in his fingertip.

“Don’t move.” Dean hurries to the kitchen, coming back with a broom, a dustpan, and a dampened paper towel. He sets everything down but the paper towel and holds out his hand. “Lemme see.”

“It’s fine,” Cas says again, and then his hand is in Dean’s and he’s trying not to notice the way Dean pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he concentrates. His hands are big and calloused but surprisingly gentle as he works out the shard of glass, then presses the paper towel onto it. Cas leaves his hand there an extra moment before realizing he’s perfectly capable of holding it in place himself. “Thank you.” He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“My fault,” Dean says, not looking any happier. “Leaving a lot of damage in my wake these days.” He picks up the broom and nods toward the couch so Cas moves out of his way and goes to sit down.

“That sounds serious.”

“Yeah, well,” he says bitterly. “It’s the classic Dean Winchester experience.”

Cas checks his finger; it’s already stopped bleeding. “First off, I'm fine. And some might say this is my fault for jumping in before asking if you wanted me to.”

“The difference is you were trying to help.”

“And you?”

Dean’s silent as he sweeps up the rest of the glass. He disappears into the kitchen to empty the dustpan into the trash and when he comes back he sits down on the other end of the couch. “I don’t know. But whatever my intentions were, it backfired.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, even though nothing is any clearer than when he left his apartment. “I know we don’t know each other all that well, but everything I’ve seen from you seems...genuine. And honestly, that paired with—“ he makes a vague gesture in Dean’s direction “—can be extremely intimidating.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the kind of guy who could be a jerk and get away with it,” he says, grimacing as he hears himself. “Okay, that didn’t come out right.”

The tiniest of smiles plays around Dean’s mouth. “I’m guessing you meant that as a compliment.”

“I did,” Cas agrees. “My point is you’re nice to everyone.” And he is, whether it’s the maintenance guy in the building or the server at the coffee shop. Or Cas, for God’s sake. “Sometimes people don’t know what to do with that.”

Dean’s body language relaxes, the set of his shoulders loosening. “You know I used to think you hated me.”

Cas lets his head fall into his uninjured hand. “Oh God, I swear I did not mean to close the elevator in your face.” He’s gratified when Dean laughs. “I should’ve apologized for that sooner.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Dean says, in that easy way that leaves Cas feeling lighter.

“Look, all I’m saying is, just don’t be so quick to assume whatever happened is your fault. Sometimes people just need some time to catch up to where you are.” As Cas says it, his decision becomes perfectly clear and he gets to his feet. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your evening.”

Dean gets up to walk him to the door. “I’m glad you did. Seems like I could do with a little more talking and a little less—“ he mimes flipping a table. “And I’ll keep the music down.”

“It’s fine,” Cas says, realizing his headache has completely gone away. “It’s still early.”

They stand for a moment in the doorway, smiling at each other, before Cas turns away.

***

After Cas leaves, Dean doesn’t turn the music back on and he doesn’t reach for a new beer, either. His day has been miserable. Each time he managed to get distracted, the cold realization that Chrysler had stopped replying would wash over him again, catching him off guard like a sneaker wave. At first he’d tried to tell himself it was a coincidence, that he’d hear something back soon. Chrysler, though, was the type to message him things like, ‘heading out for a run’ or ‘I’m in meetings all morning’ as a way to let Dean know he’d be unavailable for chunks of time. It always made Dean feel better, like Chrysler didn’t want him to think he was ignoring him if he didn’t respond right away. But to wake up to no new message, to check at lunchtime and still see his question dangling there? It stung. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed with nothing but radio silence. Dean hadn’t realized a non-answer could be so loud and convincing.

Not only that, he was so on edge over it that he snapped at Garth who was just trying to be nice. It was easier than trying to explain that he’d been rejected by someone he’d never met. And then he’d fucked up Cas’s evening by coming home and basically throwing a tantrum over the whole thing.

Dean sits back down on the couch, glancing over to where Cas had been sitting only minutes before. It was funny to hear him talk about the elevator incident, to see him pink with embarrassment. He’s always such a steady, thoughtful presence, and it makes those cracks in his exterior so much more gratifying, like he’s letting Dean in. Dean feels sure Cas would never say anything to bullshit him or blow smoke up his ass. Maybe the advice he gave Dean was right. Maybe this isn’t about him after all.

He’s the one who put the question out there, almost backing Chrysler into the corner with it. As bad as he’s feeling over the whole thing, maybe Chrysler feels worse. Maybe he feels pressured, like Dean’s trying to rush things. Even though Dean’s the one waiting on a response, he also realizes he’s the one who changed everything by extending the invitation. There were so many other ways Dean could’ve gone about this. Ways to ease into it, ways to let his friend know it would be fine either way. He takes a deep, steadying breath. It’s not too late to fix that.

He sits down at his laptop and starts to type. _I’m not good at this and clearly I shouldn’t have just tossed that out there like that so_

As he’s typing, the little bubble that indicates Chrysler is also typing appears.

Dean stops, his breath hitching in his chest. He’s dying to know what Chrysler is typing, but he’s also a little terrified. If he waits, he’s going to lose his nerve so he goes back to his own message, determined to ignore everything else until he hits send.

**SavetheDrake:** I’m not good at this and clearly I shouldn’t have just tossed that out there like that so I’m sorry if you felt pressured or anything and it’s fine either way, I swear.

**Chrysler1930:** I’m so sorry for leaving you hanging all day. I’ll admit your question caught me off guard but I should’ve discussed it with you, not disappeared like that.

Dean feels a rush of relief and he scrambles to reply.

**SavetheDrake:** no it’s fine, i fucked things up. Look I’d be happy to get to know you better but if that’s not what you want, i’m cool if things stay like this.

And the thing is, Dean means it. Whereas just a day ago, the thought of never meeting Chrysler had been so pervasive, like an itch under his skin, now the idea of driving him away and losing what they have completely dwarfs that.

With all this time to think, he’s realized something about himself.

**SavetheDrake:** i know a lot of people but I don’t really have very many close friends, if that makes any sense

If Chrysler is confused by where Dean’s going with this, he doesn’t show it.

**Chrysler1930:** More like acquaintances?

Dean thinks about the gang he goes out to bars with. Or how he’s busied himself moving from one girlfriend to the next.

**SavetheDrake:** kind of. More than that maybe because we hang out but it always sort of stays at the same level

He thinks about what he’s built with Chrysler, someone who always seems interested in what he has to say, and not because he wants anything from Dean. He thinks of Cas with his quiet strength and his unexpected humor.

**SavetheDrake:** My point is i’m trying to do better at making actual friends. I think I need that in my life.

**Chrysler1930:** it seems harder to do the older we get. My closest friend is from college.

Dean feels better, knowing that Chrysler is still here, still talking to him. He’s relieved that they’ve managed to talk through this a little bit and found some middle ground. He hopes he’s getting his point across that this friendship matters to him, more than meeting in person.

Which is why the next message Chrysler sends catches him off guard.

**Chrysler1930:** I’ve been thinking about it and I would like to go to the rally.

***

Cas’s hands are sweating as he sends the message. There’s no going back now. Seeing as Drake had been the one to initiate the idea of meeting, Cas feels a little more confident about putting it back out there. It’s not a big deal, he tells himself, especially after Drake made a point about wanting friends in his life. Just two friends meeting in person.

He’d been undecided, grateful for the distraction of going up to Dean’s to keep him from sitting in his apartment with his mind and stomach churning. Dean was clearly upset...even without the evidence of the upended table and broken bottle, Cas would’ve known. His jaw was set, a furrow pulled between his brows, his body tight with tension. Still, he’d tried to act like he was fine, even finding a small hint of a smile for Cas, inviting him in when he could’ve slammed the door in his face. Something about that had lodged in Cas’s chest. Something about the way he’d tried to cover his true feelings to put Cas at ease. And then the gentle way he’d taken Cas’s hand to get the glass out…

While Dean had stayed vague about whatever his situation was, Cas watched him relax as they talked, even laughing when Cas gave a long overdue apology for the elevator incident. People don’t often come to Cas for advice, but he found himself exceptionally pleased by how Dean took his words into consideration. Then somehow, as he talked to Dean, his own path forward became clear.

A few months ago, he never could’ve dreamed he’d be sitting on Dean’s couch having a meaningful conversation with him. But--and Meg was never, ever going to let him hear the end of this--putting himself out there has gotten him to this point. He sees now why Meg encouraged him to take these baby steps in the first place. He’ll always be an introvert, but he’s coming to terms with the fact that there’s a difference between enjoying his own company and hiding himself away.

He’ll go and he’ll meet his friend. And whatever else does or doesn’t happen, he’ll help rally around the Drake.

**SavetheDrake:** are you sure?

Nope, Cas thinks. Not at all. But he makes himself type a different response.

**Chrysler1930:** I’ll be honest, it stresses me out a little bit but I want to be there.

**SavetheDrake:** look i’ve never done this before

**SavetheDrake:** met someone from online like this i mean

Something about that makes Cas relax, because he _has_ done this before, mainly in groups but still. It’s encouraging to think he has a little bit more experience in this particular area. That, on top of knowing Drake isn’t mad, that he wants to keep talking despite Cas having taken that big step back, it leaves him almost giddy.

**Chrysler1930:** So basically you want to find out if i’m catfishing you

He sees the typing indicator. Then it stops. Then it starts for another long moment. Then it stops again.

**SavetheDrake:** no?

Cas throws back his head and laughs, the earlier stress evaporating.

**Chrysler1930:** LOL Shall I scroll back to screenshot the beginning of our conversation? The one YOU started with ME?

**SavetheDrake:** LISTEN. Everyone knows you have to be smart about these things.

**Chrysler1930:** ...are you worried that you’ve catfished YOURSELF?

**SavetheDrake:** YOU KNOW WHAT? I’VE CHANGED MY MIND

He sends the winking emoji before Cas even has time to worry. Cas sends back the cat and the fish.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas sends Meg a cryptic text. _It’s happening._

His phone rings a moment later. He considers letting it go to voicemail, but he did this to himself so he answers. 

“You know I hate this vague bullshit, Cas,” she says, in lieu of hello. “What’s happening?”

Cas bites back a smile. “It.”

“Castiel Novak, I swear to God, I will call your mother and tell her the truth about why you missed her birthday dinner that year.”

Cas can't help it, he gasps. Some things are sacred. “You wouldn’t.”

“Your fate lies in your hands. Now spill.”

“Does it still lie in my hands when I’m being blackmailed?” She doesn’t dignify that with a response and he can picture her with an eyebrow arched, waiting not-so-patiently. “Okay, fine. I’m going to meet my online friend in person.”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He can hear the sincerity and pride in her voice and he finds himself rolling his eyes because she always makes a big deal out of things, but secretly he’s pleased. “Tell me where and when so I can sit in the corner with my phone ready to call you with an emergency if he turns out to be a creep.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that. And besides, it’s a public event.” 

He doesn’t tell her how he almost fucked it up, how his fear nearly got in his way. He’s still ashamed about how he nearly ghosted the guy instead of just communicating his concerns. But he and Drake made it through that and their interactions since have felt reassuringly normal...maybe even better than normal. An undercurrent of excitement now seems to color every word as the meeting date approaches. 

“Say the word and I’ll be there.” This is reason number 472 why Cas loves Meg. She’ll never assume he needs her there, never convey that she thinks he can’t handle it, but she’ll always, always have his back. 

“I think...I think I’d like that. It’s a rally to save the Drake so the more people there, the better.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” 

“It really is,” Cas agrees. “Even if it doesn’t go any further, this is something we’ll always have in common.” 

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Uh,” Cas runs a hand through his hair. “It’s a little vague.” Cas has tried not to think too much on this point. 

For the first few conversations after Cas said he wanted to go to the rally, they’d carefully steered away from the topic of meeting, like they tacitly needed to know they could still maintain what they had with this new knowledge on the horizon. Finally, Cas could hold out no longer. 

**Chrysler1930:** So, how will I know you?

Since Drake admitted to not having done this before, Cas assumed he would want to make a solid plan.

In response, he’d received the smirking emoji. He sat, blinking, his stomach lurching in an unpleasant way, like maybe Drake knew something he didn’t. Cas took a deep breath and didn’t type his initial, knee-jerk response. _What’s that supposed to mean?_ Instead he sent the eyes emoji.

**SavetheDrake:** you’ll know me from my sign

It nearly had Cas changing his decision. This was stressful enough and he didn’t need mind games added to it. 

**Chrysler1930:** That’s pretty vague.

**SavetheDrake:** it is, isn’t it? 

He’d followed that with the big grin emoji. 

Cas sat, his fingers poised over his keyboard. With so many unknowns, he’d been hoping for something specific. _Let’s meet on the corner at 11_ , he imagined Drake saying, spelling out that he’d be wearing a red shirt or a carnation in his lapel or something _._ Hell, maybe they could even exchange pics beforehand. 

**SavetheDrake:** this is driving you nuts, isn’t it? Numbers guy like you must want all the details planned out ahead of time. 

Cas felt his eyes widen even as a smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth. Drake knew him well. He relaxed.

**Chrysler1930:** You’ve really got my number. (Pun fully intended.)

**Chrysler1930:** Except for the fact that you haven’t got my number. 

**SavetheDrake:** and i never will if I keep this up, huh?

Cas found himself smiling softly at the screen. 

**SavetheDrake:** seriously though, if this is stressing you out we can make an actual plan.

That was all Cas needed, that acknowledgement that they could do it differently if it made him more comfortable. 

**Chrysler1930:** *rips up spreadsheet* I can be spontaneous

**SavetheDrake:** spreadsheet, huh? What have you been keeping track of?

**Chrysler1930:** All your typos. ;-)

**SavetheDrake:** I’m wounded!

**SavetheDrake:** man down

**Chrysler1930:** I’ll just look for the sign about the Drayk. 

**SavetheDrake:** i deserved that

Meg also knows him well. “Since when do you do vague, Cas?”

“He said I’ll know him by his sign.” 

“What’s it going to say?”

Cas drops his face into his hand. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“And you agreed to this?”

“I did.”

There’s a long pause and then: “I like him already.”

“Nope,” Cas says. “You two are never allowed to meet.” 

“Okay, so what do you think it’ll say?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, as if he hasn’t spent nearly every waking moment trying to figure it out. “Maybe it’ll just have his screen name on it? Or mine?”

“Could be.” She makes a sound of consideration. “But that’s pretty straightforward, don’t you think? Why be coy about it?”

“I never said he was being coy.”

“You didn’t have to. Look Cas, if this had been your plan, it would’ve been, ‘I’ll meet you on the corner at the stroke of noon. I’ll be the one with a rose in my teeth.’”

Cas mutters something that sounds an awful lot like _carnation_. He clears his throat and says, “And your point is?”

“Maybe it’ll say something reassuring like Not Here to Kill You.”

“You’ve Definitely Not Been Catfished.”

“Maybe it’ll be a giant dick pic.”

Cas snorts, scandalized. “At a family friendly rally.”

“Hey, that’s how families get started.”

“You’ve been extremely helpful.”

He can hear the grin in her voice. “I always am.”

***

Dean sees Cas about half a block from their building and he jogs to catch up with him. “Hey, Cas!”

Cas turns, a frown on his face until he registers Dean’s presence, and then it softens into a smile. He stops walking to wait for Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean takes a moment to marvel at how easy things have become between them. Not that long ago, he would’ve expected Cas to peer over his shoulder then dash into the nearest open doorway to get away from him. “Did you hear about the rally this weekend? For the Drake?”

Cas’s eyes dart to the side for a moment and Dean thinks maybe he was wrong, maybe he still wants to make his escape. “I did, yes.”

“Are you gonna go? Because you totally should.”

“Actually, yes. I do have plans to attend.”

Without thinking, Dean reaches out to smack him on the shoulder. It’s exceedingly firm, but he tries not to fixate on that. “Awesome. So, we’re having a sign-making party tomorrow at the coffee shop. Charlie said they could provide the posterboard and we can all bring markers or whatever.”

“Oh.” Cas’s eyes grow large. “Uh, what time?”

“Around two? It’s pretty casual, whenever people can stop in.”

Cas nods but he looks a little distracted, like he’s mentally reviewing his schedule. Finally he says, “I could do that.”

“Cool,” Dean rocks back on his heels, pleased. “I’ll come get you just before two and we can walk over together.” 

They walk back to their building, chatting easily. When they stop at the mailboxes, Dean reaches across to where Cas is opening his box and slaps it shut, just to be a dick. In response, Cas hip checks him out of the way with surprising strength, and Dean has to put a hand on the row of mailboxes to stop from staggering to the side. Mail in hand, Dean detours to the recycling bin to dump all the flyers and ads, and by the time he’s done that, Cas is already in the elevator. 

“Oh, here we fucking go,” Dean says. “What’s it going to be this time?”

Cas raises a hand, like he’s considering which button to push, then uses it to keep the doors from closing. “If ever you deserved it, it’s today,” he says, eyebrows raised. 

“Listen, you’re the one who about knocked me on my ass. You got a secret life as a hockey player or what?”

“Yes,” Cas says, completely deadpan. “There’s a button I push in my apartment to reveal an ice rink beneath my floor.”

Dean grins. “I knew it.”

Cas squints a little. With his untamed hair, it makes him look a little bit like a disgruntled baby bird. Dean can’t believe he’s gone from being impressed by Cas’s lower body strength to considering him with the word _cute_. “That would’ve come in handy during the heatwave.”

The door opens on Cas’s floor. “I’ll come get you tomorrow,” Dean promises. “Just before two.”

“Sounds good.” As the doors begin to close, Cas calls over his shoulder. “I’ll get my skating in early.”

Unlocking his apartment door, Dean’s still smiling. It’ll be nice to have Cas at the rally. Getting to know Cas has been an unexpected treat and something about it makes Dean feel proud. It’s not like he’s done anything other than be himself--only he realizes that’s not exactly right. Getting to know Cas has caused him to redefine what that means a little bit. He’s gotten pretty far on his old Dean Winchester autopilot: charm, disarm, eventually move on. Between Cas and Chrysler, though, he realizes that while he’s spent plenty of time being seen, now he kind of wants to be _known_. He imagines telling Cas about his mom, about his memory of her from the Drake. He thinks Cas would listen with that unwavering attention, his blue eyes zeroed in on him like what Dean has to say is worth hearing. 

From general chatter around the coffee shop, it seems that there’s going to be a good turnout at the sign-making party tomorrow. While no one besides Charlie knows that he has a bit of an ulterior motive regarding the rally, he feels good about doing something to benefit the community as a whole. The satisfaction he feels at helping to organize the event wasn’t anything he’d banked on, but he finds it’s nice to have something else to focus on as the meeting with Chrysler gets closer and closer. It helps distract him from being preoccupied with thinking he’s weirded Chrysler out by not telling him exactly how to locate him. 

Dean likes teasing him, likes that Chrysler can give it right back to him, but if he’d pushed at all for more details, Dean would’ve happily worked out a plan with him. In fact, sometimes when he thinks about the rally, Dean gets a wave of nervous anticipation that borders on nausea and it’s enough to make him wish he had. It would be so much more straightforward to have specified the where and when, but Dean’s done this to himself and he’ll either end up looking like a fool or he’ll pull it off. 

Only time will tell. 

***

True to his word, Dean knocks on Cas’s door right before two o’clock. Cas opens it to find him standing there, relaxed and comfortable, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to Dean Winchester actually seeking him out. “Ready?”

“Sorry, my mother called and I got behind. Still need to put on my shoes. Did you want to come in?”

“Sure.” Dean follows him in and Cas pretends not to watch as he looks around. The place is pretty sparsely decorated; Cas has never had that much attachment to things. “Does your mom live around here?”

“Thankfully, no.” Cas stops, shoes in hand. “That doesn’t sound very nice, does it?”

Dean smiles. “It sounds like a story.”

“Many stories, actually.” As he puts on his shoes, Dean wanders around a little, catching sight of a couple of framed photos on a bookshelf. 

“Is that her?”

Cas walks over to join him, realizing a moment too late that he’s standing close enough for their shoulders to nearly brush. “Yep. That’s us at my brother’s college graduation.” 

Dean reaches a hand toward the frame, then stops, eyebrows raised in question. When Cas nods his permission, he picks it up to take a closer look. “Older brother?”

“Yes. By seven years.”

“Teenage Cas made some interesting fashion choices,” Dean says, doing his best not to smile. 

Cas grabs the photo away. “Let me guess, you’ve never worn anything other than jeans and plaid your entire life.” He has a momentary mental image of Dean as a newborn baby, swaddled in a plaid blanket. 

“You think I’d keep photographic evidence sitting around?”

Laying the photo face down on the shelf, Cas turns and tries to glare at him. 

“Nope,” Dean says. “No shame.” He tips the photo upright. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Yeah. But he lives across the country so we don’t see each other much.”

“I’ve got a brother, too. He’s local. Tried to get him to come this afternoon, but he was busy.”

“Older or younger?” Dean gives off a protective older brother vibe, Cas thinks, remembering him easing the glass out of his hand. But he’s also got that bratty, look-at-me baby of the family thing going on.

‘Younger, he--”

He stops when Cas’s phone chimes. “Sorry,” Cas says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “That’s my friend Meg...you met her at the coffee shop that time?” Dean nods. “She wants to come make a sign.”

“Awesome,” Dean says. “More the merrier.” 

“Okay.” Cas taps out a reply. “She’ll meet us there.”

By the time they get to the coffee shop, there are about a dozen people there, and a handful of smaller tables have been pushed together to give people space to work. A stack of blank poster board sits at one end and cups full of sharpies and markers are interspersed along the tables. There’s even a set of poster paints and a few brushes. 

Cas chose not to mention the sign-making party to Drake, although he’s not exactly sure why. Maybe because Dean so pointedly invited him. Like, he literally chased Cas down on the sidewalk to pass along the invitation. Or maybe because part of him is so focused on them meeting at the rally that bringing up an alternate opportunity would have thrown the entire thing off. Nevertheless, Cas can’t stop himself from glancing around, wondering if any of these people are Drake. It leaves his heart thumping in his chest as he surreptitiously scans their signs, checking to see if anything jumps out at him. Just as he thought, many of them are writing Save the Drake in big letters, leaving him unsure of what Drake might be planning. He spies Crossword Guy there, a piece of poster board in his lap as he sits in a comfy chair. He’s got a pack of markers tossed on the other chair, even though there’s a small table between them. He seems to be sketching out something different though, and for a heartstopping moment Cas is convinced it’s him. He’s Drake. The possibility has him rooted where he stands and he stares so long that Crossword Guy must sense it, because he looks up and catches Cas’s eye. There’s nothing there, no spark of interest, no self-consciousness at being caught. Only the same disinterested affect he always seems to have. 

Cas swallows hard as Meg steps into his field of vision. “What if it’s him?” he hisses at her before she even says hello.

She glances over her shoulder. “You think you’ve been flirting with Crossword Guy all this time?”

“I don’t know? Maybe? It could be anyone so yes, it could be him.”

“No way. Crossword Guy hates everyone.”

“He’s here, though. He’s making a sign.”

“Yeah, and it’s probably gonna say This Seat Taken. Only he’ll write it like a crossword puzzle.”

That’s enough to snap Cas out of his panic and a snort of laughter escapes him.

Dean appears. “What’s so funny?” 

Meg’s eyes glint with mischief and Cas hurries to speak before she can. “Meg said he’s going to write a sign that says This Seat Taken instead of Save the Drake.”

Dean’s look goes soft for a moment, so there-and-gone that Cas wonders if he’s imagined it. Then he laughs. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They find a place to sit, spread out a bit to leave room for the posterboard. Dean seems antsy, Cas notes, frequently getting up to chat with Charlie or to make a pass through the coffee shop ensuring everyone has what they need. Even though Cas knows Dean invited him as a friend and a community member, there's a part of him that wishes Dean had sat down beside him and not budged the whole time. Still, Cas manages to meet a few other people, holding up his end of the conversation as they make signs, not speaking solely to Meg like he might have once done. 

By the time he and Meg are finished, Dean’s barely got Save the Drake outlined on his sign in pencil. He looks up when Cas sets down his last marker. “You done?”

“I think so.” Cas holds up his sign for Dean’s approval. He’s sketched out a rough approximation of the theater’s marquee and written Preserve our History where the movie title would be displayed.

“I didn’t know you could draw.” 

“I can’t.” 

Dean nods at his sign. “Uh, yeah you can.” 

Cas shrugs, starting to gather up the markers he brought. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s good,” Dean insists, looking back down at his own. “Also, it’s done which is more than I can say about mine. Hey, can I borrow those?”

“Sure, you can give them back whenever.” 

Dean pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “I thought…”

“Nah, I can finish this at home.” He looks at Cas expectantly, and Cas finds himself distracted by the clear green of his eyes and curl of his long lashes. 

“I’ve got to go, too,” Meg chimes in and honest to God Cas forgot she was there. “But I feel better knowing Cas will have an escort to get him safely home.”

Cas turns his entire body away from Dean to glare at her. “It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he says between slightly gritted teeth. 

She smiles sweetly. “Can’t be too safe.”

***

“Jesus, I’m starving,” Dean says as they begin to walk. “I didn’t have lunch.”

Cas looks at him, amused. “You know we were just in a place with food.”

“Okay, true, but I wasn’t hungry then.”

“It was literally one minute ago.”

“What’s your point?”

“Will you be alright to get home? No chance of collapse in the near future?”

“You gonna carry me if I do?” Fuck, where did that come from. _Could_ Cas pick him up? He does seem pretty strong. But even if he could pick him up, that’s not the same as carrying him. Dean conjures a mental image of Cas sighing, rolling his eyes, then tossing Dean effortlessly over his shoulder to set out toward home. Lost in thought, Dean fiddles with the handful of markers he’s carrying, dropping one in the process. He’s forced to stop, bending down to grab it before it rolls away along the sidewalk.

Cas stops too, turning to look at him in alarm before realizing what’s happening. “I thought we were getting ready to find out.” 

Dean doesn’t mean to, but he’s basically crouched down at Cas’s feet and he lets his gaze travel slowly up his body. They lock eyes for a moment, then Dean clears his throat. “I’m doing a great impression of a fully functioning adult today, huh?”

Tucking his sign under one arm, Cas reaches out his other hand. Dean shoves the markers in his back pocket and lets Cas pull him up. Inexplicably, Dean feels his face heat as their palms press together. 

Here’s the thing, Cas _is_ strong. Or maybe Dean really is weak from hunger because he doesn’t brace himself and, as a result, as Cas tugs him up, Dean loses his balance and stumbles a few steps directly into him.

Their faces are just inches apart, their clasped hands are wedged between their chests, and somehow neither of them manages to paper cut the other with a sign. Cas has an unreadable look in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean should really step back, but Cas’s eyes are so blue and he hasn’t shaved today and Dean suddenly can’t think of anything other than how his stubble would feel under his fingertips or against his lips and…

“Get a fucking room,” a woman yells as she sidesteps around them. 

The moment gone, they hurriedly separate. Cas doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, instead spending a long moment smoothing out the bent corner of his sign.

“Hey,” Dean says. “You wanna grab some Thai food? We could finally put this Pad Thai versus curry argument to bed.” He nearly winces. Why does every word coming out of his mouth sound like innuendo? 

Cas’s face goes soft, his eyes almost sad. Dean knows before he speaks that he’s being let down. “I would love that, but today isn’t good for me.”

“Rain check?”

A bright smile breaks across Cas’s face. “Yes. I have no doubt you’ll see the error of your ways.”

“I hope you enjoy being wrong.” Dean knocks his shoulder against Cas’s as they continue along their way. 


	9. Chapter 9

Back in his apartment, Dean fortifies himself with some leftovers, then gets to work on his sign. He quickly finishes the Save the Drake side, then flips it over to start the one for Chrysler. He specifically didn’t mention the sign-making party to Chrysler and the omission sits a little heavy in his stomach. He tells himself it wasn’t a big deal to skip over it, probably Chrysler would’ve mentioned it to him if he’d heard about it, right? Dean’s nervous enough as it is, so this was just a way of keeping things less complicated. Had Dean mentioned it, would Chrysler have scoped out the coffee shop this afternoon trying to figure out who he was? It seems unlikely except for the fact that it’s exactly what Dean would’ve done if the situation were reversed.

It was nice to have the distraction of the afternoon, hanging out with Charlie and Cas and seeing how many people were excited about the rally.

When he finishes the sign, he looks it over, then scrubs a hand over his face. Why did he think this was going to be funny? He’s going to look like a fool and, even if Chrysler does figure out it’s him, he’ll take one look and keep on walking. It’ll be easy for the guy. He’ll never have to identify himself and Dean will be none the wiser. If he thought that single day of not hearing from Chrysler was bad, he’d better get used to being fucking _abandoned._

Dean’s so convinced of impending disaster that for a moment he considers trashing the whole sign and rushing out to buy supplies to start from scratch. He forces himself to take a couple of breaths and try to refocus. This whole thing with Cas has been confusing. Dean keeps blurting out invitations to people without really thinking them through. Sometimes he thinks Cas would be open to being more than friends but honestly all Dean was putting out there today was casually grabbing some takeout. It’s just that he’d said it after they had that...moment on the sidewalk.

Well, the good news is that Cas hadn’t ruled it out completely. Dean wonders what he’s got going on today. Not that he’s been listening but it’s been pretty quiet downstairs. And he clearly didn’t have plans with Meg. Maybe he’s going out with someone else. Which is fine, of course. Perfectly fine. For fuck’s sake, Dean’s making plans to meet a guy he sort of has a crush on anyhow. Maybe he should take this one day (and one person) at a time.

He made himself a deal earlier not to check for messages until he has his sign done, and that’s enough to convince him that what he’s made will have to do. He looks it over one last time, then props it safely against the wall near his front door.

There are three messages waiting from him, two from a few hours ago, and one more recent.

**Chrysler1930:** One more day!

**Chrysler1930:** Less than that, even.

**Chrysler1930:** You’re ghosting me, aren’t you?

Dean smiles and sends back the ghost emoji

**Chrysler1930:** I KNEW IT

Dean gets comfy on the couch.

**SavetheDrake:** how was your day?

It’s a simple question, but as they’ve grown closer, Dean realizes he doesn’t ask it of anyone else. On a day like this, when they haven’t spent the whole time chatting, Dean finds he likes asking it and genuinely wants to hear the answer.

**Chrysler1930:** Good, hung out with some friends today.

**SavetheDrake:** That sounds fun.

**Chrysler1930:** It was

Dean wonders if Chrysler has told them about him, if they know about tomorrow’s meet up. He wonders if they’ll be slyly but strategically on hand just in case, like Charlie will. He’s trying to think of how to casually ask any of that when Chrysler starts typing again.

**Chrysler1930:** Did you ever feel like your life is a series of bad timing?

Dean feels his stomach drop. Of course. This is when he’s going to be given an excuse, a last minute conflict to prevent Chrysler from showing up. He works his jaw for a moment, trying to formulate a response. He said before it would be fine either way and he meant it. If the guy is having cold feet, Dean can respect that.

**SavetheDrake:** something come up?

**Chrysler1930:** Oh shit, no. I didn’t mean it like that.

**Chrysler1930:** Just like, it’s funny how sometimes nobody will ask you to do anything, and then you’ll get a bunch of invitations all at the same time.

Dean didn’t realize his shoulders had crept up towards his ears until they sag.

**SavetheDrake:** so i’m not about to be the ghostee?

**Chrysler1930:** That sounds like a ghost with a goatee.

**SavetheDrake:** Oh yeah well you sound like a goat with a cup of tea

**Chrysler1930:** LOL That one needs some work

**SavetheDrake:** tell me about it

**Chrysler1930:** Anyhow you’ll find out what I sound like tomorrow.

**SavetheDrake:** it’s weird, huh?

**Chrysler1930:** are you nervous?

Dean likes the way Chrysler asks these questions, putting things directly out there instead of skirting around the issue. The downside is it forces Dean to answer them just as directly. He thinks for a moment.

**SavetheDrake:** a little? But mostly excited.

**Chrysler1930:** me too

**Chrysler1930:** got your sign ready?

**SavetheDrake:** i do.

**Chrysler1930:** and you’re sure I’ll be able to pick you out?

**SavetheDrake:** let’s put it this way. If you don’t come say hi, I’ll know it’s because you don’t want to be seen with me.

**Chrysler1930:** I grow more and more intrigued....

***

Cas can’t decide if he’s the smartest or stupidest person on the planet. He had an opportunity--one that may never come around again--to go get Thai food with Dean and he turned it down. Listen to yourself, his brain interrupts. Dean asked you to go out with him. You said no. Cas runs a hand through his hair. I know. _I know._ In his wildest dreams, Cas could scarcely picture a reality where Dean Winchester would casually extend an invitation like that. For Cas to have said no is downright laughable.

The thing is he’s just so distracted right now, focused on tomorrow’s meeting. And while Dean has turned into what Cas would wholeheartedly describe as a friend, he’s not sure if there’s anything else there. Although, there had been that undeniable... _something_ between them on the walk home. Maybe he was imagining it, his mouth gone dry at the sight of Dean looking up at him that way. It’s his own fault for taking an innocent situation and letting it evolve into something inappropriate in his mind. Still, the way they’d stood so close together on the sidewalk for so long…

It was the right move, Cas maintains. He’s reading too much into a friendly invitation when what he needs to do is prioritize his meeting with Drake. By the time he gets back to his apartment, he’s still kicking himself a little, the doubt compounded by not having heard back from Drake all afternoon. He’d snuck into the bathroom at the coffee shop to send off a few quick messages earlier, the reality of their meeting strengthening with every sign he saw. Cas should leave it alone, but with no response, his nervous energy has him sending a third message, one phrased as a joke even as it lays out Cas’s fears about being stood up.

So, listening to Dean move around upstairs, Cas throws together some semblance of a dinner and eats it alone, trying not to think about how he’s most likely managed to alienate both Dean and Drake. He’s mindlessly scrolling the internet, only a few clicks away from checking the local animal shelter for cats, when Drake responds.

The tension bleeds out of him at once and they fall back into their easy routine, even as both of them acknowledge their emotions around the impending meeting. They chat for a good long time and when they say their good nights, its with _See you tomorrow_ tagged on.

Cas lies in his bed, unable to keep the smile off his face as he stares into the dark.

Despite the nervous excitement, he falls asleep although he wakes well ahead of the alarm he’s set just in case. It’s good that he has this extra time because he spends way too long carefully shaving and trying to tame his hair. And that doesn’t factor in the excessive number of shirts he’s put on and taken off again, looking for one that says _this is casual but also special_ in equal parts.

There are no messages this morning, but he hasn’t expected any since it seems to be understood that their next interaction will happen in person. Taking one last look in the mirror, he sighs, deciding this is as good as it’s going to get. Grabbing his sign, he heads out. So focused on himself, he hasn’t been paying attention to the sounds coming from the apartment upstairs, but sure enough, when the elevator opens, there’s Dean. His sign has been completed, Cas notes at once, the words Save the Drake bold and clear. It’s not like he anticipated anything different, but still Cas registers a little hint of disappointment at seeing it.

While his sign is nothing out of the ordinary, his grin is effervescent. “Heya, Cas.”

Cas tucks his keys in his pocket and steps into the elevator. At the last moment he throws his arm out to keep the doors from closing. “Shit. I forgot my wallet.”

Dean jabs the proper button. “You want me to wait?”

Torn, Cas takes too long to answer, finally shaking his head. “I’ll catch up.” He watches until the doors close completely before turning back to his apartment. Wallet retrieved, he sets back out. While he thought it might help to have this time to himself, he misses the easy distraction of Dean beside him. If nothing else, it helps to know he’ll have people to talk to at the rally if this meet up goes badly.

As arranged, Meg is waiting for him on the corner and they walk the last half block to the Drake together. “How you doing?”

“Thinking of puking,” Cas admits. “Also turning around and going right back home. Why is this so difficult?”

“You’ve got this,” Meg assures him, and there’s a forcefulness to her voice that convinces him. “Tell me where you want me,” she adds as they approach the theater. There’s a small crowd of people already there, but more seem to be streaming in from every direction.

‘Uh,” Cas says, eyes darting nervously around. “Let’s just make a pass through, I guess?” He scans the crowd as they walk, looking for men who seem to be about his age. None of them appear to be doing anything out of the ordinary, though. They’re casually talking with the people around them or holding up their signs. Like Dean’s, most of them say some version of _Save the Drake!_

He spots Dean, standing near Charlie and some people he doesn’t know. His face looks serious, his sign clutched almost protectively to his chest and Cas wonders if, as one of the organizers, he'll be speaking at the rally. He doesn’t seem to notice Cas.

Meg leans close, up on her tiptoes to speak into his ear. “Anything?”

Cas looks around again, his heart thumping in his chest. “Maybe he’s not here yet. It’s still pretty early.” This is a terrible idea. The worst he’s ever had. He hands Meg his sign and reaches for his phone. “Let me check and see if he’s sent anything.” When Meg looks at him expectantly, he shakes his head.

“That’s better than a message saying he isn’t coming.”

“Is it, though, Meg? Because I hate this a lot.” He feels sick, his stomach roiling. He’s sure everyone can see how frantic he feels inside, the nervous desperation wafting off of him like a signal flare. He’s ready to call the whole thing off, to tell Meg he was wrong, that he’s not ready, when he catches some movement out of the corner of his eye. Dean has broken away from his group of friends and is moving from the sidewalk up the few small steps that lead to the theater. He stops at the top and Cas confirms his suspicions that he's going to speak. As he watches, Dean takes a deep breath and raises his sign overhead.

Then he flips it around.

Cas sees the words. He sees them. He can read them. Still, his brain seems unable to make sense of them. It can’t be.

_**Not Farmers for the Drake** _

“Holy shit,” he says.

Meg looks up in alarm. “You found him?”

Cas doesn’t know when it happened, but he finds he’s covered his mouth with his hand so he merely nods.

Meg follows his gaze. “ _Holy shit_.” Cas is still standing there, frozen and disbelieving, and Meg gives him a little shove. “Fucking jackpot, Cas. You did it! Go get him.”

It’s the push he needs and Cas wills his feet to move, elbowing through the crowd to make his way towards the steps. As he breaks free of the crowd, Dean catches sight of him and there’s a look on his face Cas has never seen before. It’s a soft look of vulnerability, of hopefulness. It’s there and then it flickers away as Cas approaches, like he’s not sure how to explain.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Uh..”

“It’s me,” Cas says. Dean looks at him, green eyes wide as his lips gently part in surprise. Cas feels his chest tighten, his pulse pounding in his ears. His next words come out breathless, like they’re being squeezed from his lungs. “I’m Chrysler.”

There’s a moment that seems to stretch forever while Dean only stares at him. “All this time?” Dean lets the sign lower. “All this time it was you?”

“I didn’t know,” Cas says, shaking his head in disbelief. He’s still not sure if Dean sees this as good or bad news, but he adds, “I was afraid even to hope.”

“All this time,” Dean says again, and a bright smile dawns across his face. He looks so happy that Cas feels a bubble of emotion tightening his throat.

In that moment, it’s the easiest thing in the world for Cas to reach for him. He doesn’t care that they’re standing in public, that everyone there might be watching them. For all Cas knows, he and Dean are the only two people in the entire universe. Dean lets his sign fall to the ground and steps closer. As the crowd mills about them, voices rise as someone begins a chant for the Drake, but Cas only registers the man standing before him. He takes Dean’s face gently in his hands as Dean wraps his arms around him. When Dean closes the last few inches between them, his mouth is warm and soft on Cas’s.

“It’s you,” Dean says, between kisses. “It’s you.”

Cas grins so broadly that they have to stop kissing, and he presses his forehead against Dean’s. “That sign is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Cas answers him with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY MOM STOP READING HERE!


	10. Chapter 10

Cas wakes to mid-morning sun streaming in through the bedroom window. He stretches, reveling in the welcome laziness of a Saturday morning. His phone buzzes on the bedside table and he supposes that’s what woke him in the first place. Reaching for it, he sees a handful of missed messages.

 **SavetheDrake:** jesus you’re hot

 **SavetheDrake:** the things i want to do to you

 **SavetheDrake:** i think about you all the time

 **SavetheDrake:** i think about your eyes and your jaw and your fucking thighs

 **SavetheDrake:** i think about you in my mouth

Cas feels warmth flood through him, knows he’s blushing, even as his body begin to respond. He’ll never be used to this, never take for granted that Dean wants him like this. He’s smiling at his screen when another message comes in.

 **SavetheDrake:** send me a dick pic

At that, he sets his phone back on the bedside table and rolls onto his side. “I’m right here, you can just look for yourself.”

Dean grins at him, phone still in hand. His eyes are soft and sleepy and Cas reaches to run his fingers through pillow-flattened hair. Dean lets his eyes drift shut as he leans into Cas’s touch. If he were a cat, Cas thinks, he’d be purring.

After the rally for the Drake, they’d gone back to Cas’s apartment to piece together the ups and downs of their online acquaintance with their in person interactions. It was slow going, though, because every few minutes they’d stop to kiss, lips and tongues exploring as gentle hands caressed cheekbones and strong arms pulled each other close. Cas was amazed by how at ease he felt, how the earlier nervousness completely evaporated. He _knew_ Dean. Knew him both as Dean and as SavetheDrake, those two sides of him coming together to leave them richly connected. If he’d harbored any lingering worry that Dean was disappointed at the reveal, the way he kissed along Cas’s jaw, stopping to bite gently at his chin, erased any doubt.

In the weeks since that day they’ve been nearly inseparable. Cas has met Sam, sharing a small smile with him as Dean stumbled slightly over the word “boyfriend”, then sharing hours of conversation with him, learning exactly why Dean was so proud of his brother. At one point, he’d glanced over to see Dean watching them talk, caught him with a look so soft and fond that it made Cas’s heart clench, and he’d reached for Dean’s hand under the table. Dean didn’t hesitate to take it, turning to smile at him and squeezing his hand so reassuringly that Cas had to stop mid-sentence to gather himself. Sam congratulated Dean at the end of their dinner, teasing him that he’d punched above his weight, but Cas knew without a doubt that he was the lucky one.

They’ve spent time with Meg, and while she hasn’t divulged all of Cas’s secrets, she’s taken gleeful delight in sharing stories of their college days. Her favorite, though, is to tell Dean all the times Cas came to her, lamenting the way he’d made a fool of himself in front of Dean. At each one, Dean tosses his head back, laughing heartily, disbelief and amusement on his face as he watches Cas blush, before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Gross,” Meg says, but she’s smiling nearly as broadly as Cas is.

The Drake found a new owner, one committed to preserving history and keeping it a part of the community. It’s closed now for the new management to do some restoration and upkeep, but not long after the rally, there’d been an open house to celebrate. Together, they walked through the theater, taking in the fading grandeur. Dean led Cas to the drinking fountain and they stood quietly before it while people talked and laughed around them. Dean spent a long moment staring into the mirror, his body tensed, but when Cas rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder, he relaxed, leaning heavily against Cas before turning toward him for a hug.

Cas thinks about how far they’ve come, from trying not to betray that he was blushing when Dean took his hand to remove that bit of glass to touching so freely and intimately. He leans in to kiss Dean, luxuriously slow. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s waist, tugging until Cas settles heavily on top of him. When Dean spreads his legs to make room for Cas there, Cas feels the answering press of Dean’s erection, hardening against his thigh as they kiss more deeply, hips rocking together in shallow, unhurried bliss.

Dean has learned what Cas likes, and his hands glide the length of his back, reaching to cup his ass and pull him even closer. Cas never tires of feeling so desired, thrilling at the way Dean digs his fingers in like he never wants to let him go. He trails kisses along Cas’s jaw and down his throat, tongue darting over the pulse point there, stubble scratching sensitive skin. In return, Cas works a hand between them to find Dean’s nipple, thumbing over it until Dean is gasping, open-mouthed against Cas’s neck.

Cas kisses his temple, his cheekbone, lets his mouth move downward until he’s grazing his lips over the shell of Dean’s ear. He trails his tongue there lightly, dipping to suck at his earlobe before kissing the soft skin beneath it. When he darts his tongue into Dean’s ear, Dean moans, his hips jerking upward, one hand pushing under Cas’s waistband to tease at the crack of his ass. Cas is fully hard now, aching with need, and while the drag of his cock against Dean’s hip is delicious, it’s not enough. Somehow, without breaking apart (and despite the distraction of Dean flicking his tongue over Cas’s nipple), Cas works their cocks free. Wrapping a loose hand around Dean, Cas lets his fingertips graze the length of him, the pad of his thumb lightly gathering the beading precome. There are times when they can’t keep their hands off each other, barely getting in the door before they’re tearing at each other’s clothes, the need to touch each other building frantically. Cas loves those moments, loves the passion and heat that swells inside him until he thinks he’ll burst with it. But this, these leisurely sessions, where it’s less about chasing his own release and more about taking Dean apart slowly...it’s nothing short of heaven.

Cas loves exploring Dean with all of his senses...the feel of firm muscle paired with the softest skin, discovering new freckles as he undresses him, the smell of clean sweat that breaks out along his hairline. Cas loves the sweet sounds Dean makes as he gets close, the way he chants Cas’s name in a breathless, almost reverent way. He loves the salty-bitter taste of him on his tongue.

Today, Dean tolerates this light touch, but his hips thrust upwards to try and get more. Cas has all the time in the world, though, and he keeps teasing him until Dean is moaning, teeth scraping against Cas’s nipple in frustration. Dean lets his head fall back against the pillow, and Cas props himself up on one elbow so that he can watch Dean’s face. He’s lost in sensation, cheeks flushed, lips parted, but when Cas softly says his name, his half-closed eyes open and their eyes meet in the morning light. He’s so beautiful like this, vulnerable and open, his trust in Cas making Cas have to swallow hard around a sudden lump in his throat. Green eyes gaze up at him and there’s the softest whimper when Cas lets go of his cock. He brings his hand up to Dean’s mouth and Dean eagerly takes him in, sucking his fingers deep, tasting himself on Cas’s skin, before pulling them out so he can lick wide stripes along his palm and kiss the galloping pulse at his wrist.

Cas reaches back between them, shifting slightly so he can stroke them together, bending down to kiss Dean again, swallowing the sweet sounds he makes as Cas finally moves his hand with intention. Dean reaches down to lace his fingers with Cas’s and they move as one, hips, hands, and mouths. Cas imagines even their heartbeats align as he presses their foreheads together, hot breath mingling as the pleasure coils low in his belly, sparking with every stroke of their hands. Cas is so close and he knows that Dean is too, Cas’s name on his lips like a prayer. Dean comes first, a soft cry escaping him as he spurts hot between them and it’s seeing him so lost in pleasure, knowing Cas did that for him, that has Cas following him over the edge a few moments later.

Cas lets his full weight fall onto Dean, neither of them caring that they’re sticky and sweaty. They hold each other as their breathing slows. Dean nuzzles against Cas, nosing at his temple, a hand stroking his hair.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“It certainly is,” Cas says, kissing him soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> This was not the fic I intended to write. In fact I have nearly 20k of a much darker fic that I was working on, but 2020 just continued to unfold in unpredictable and difficult ways so I made the decision to change course. I think this fic is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but I figure we all could use more of that right now. My hope is that it gave you a brief, pleasant respite from the world. 
> 
> Hang in there, friends. Stay safe.
> 
> My non-explicit fics can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder)
> 
> I am [scones-and-texting-and-murder](http://scones-and-texting-and-murder.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [violethaze_ao3](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA) on twitter.


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